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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/forestloversromaOOhewl 


THE  FOREST  LOVERS 


THE  FOREST  LOVERS 
A  ROMANCE  BY 
MAURICE      HEWLETT 


3L0nt(0n 
MACMILLAN   AND  CO.,   Limited 

NEW   YORK  :    THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1905 

All  rights  rcsovect 


Copyrighted  in  the  United  States. 

First  Edition,  May  1898. 

Reprinted  (twice),  July  189S,   October  1898, 

January,  February,  and  October  1S99,  1900,  igoij 

igo2,    1904,   1905. 


4727 
F74 


TO 

MRS.   W.  K.   CLIFFORD 

WITH 

THE  AUTHOR'S  HOMAGE 


8S5223 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I.  PROSPER    LE   GAI    RIDES    OUT 

II.  MORGRAUNT,    AND    A    DEAD    KNIGHT 

III.  HOLY   THORN    AND    HOLY   CHURCH 

IV.  DOM    GALORS  ... 
V.  LA    DESIROUS 

VL  THE    VIRGIN    MARRIAGE 

VII.  GALORS    ABJURES 

VIII.  THE    SALLY    AT    DAWN 

IX.  THE   BLOOD-CHASE   AND    THE    LOVE-CHASE 

X.  FOREST   ALMS 

XI.  SANCTUARY      ... 

XII.  BROKEN    SANCTUARY 

XIII.  HIGH    MARCH,    AND    A    GREAT    LADY 

XIV.  A    RECORDER  ... 
XV.  THREE   AT   TORTSENTIER 

XVI.  BOY   AND   GIRL 

XVII.  ROY      ... 

xviii.  boy's  love    ... 

XIX.  lady's  love  ... 

XX.  HOW    PROSPER    HELD    A    REVIEW 

XXI.  HOW  THE  NARRATIVE  SMACKS    AGAIN 

SOIL  

XXII.  GALORS   CONQU^STOR 


OF  THE 


PAGE 

I 

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22 
28 

35 

48 
65 

72 

89 
98 

107 

115 
127 

135 
153 
173 

185 

200 
210 

222 

235 
243 


vni 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

XXIII.  FALVE   THE   CHARCOAL-BURNER 

XXIV.  SECRET   THINGS    AT    HAUTERIVE 
XXV.  THE   ROAD    TO    GOLTRES 

XXVI.  GUESS-WORK    AT    GOLTRES      ... 

XXVII.  GALORS    RIDES    HUNTING 

XXVIII.  MERCY   WITH    THE  BEASTS      ... 

XXIX.  WANMEEIING    CRIES,    *  HA  !     SAINT    JAMES 

XXX.  THE   CHAINED   VIRGIN    OF    SAINT    THORN 

XXXL  *ENTRA    PER    ME  ' 

XXXII.  'bide   THE   time' 

XXXIII.  SALOMON    IS    DRIVEN    HOME 

XXXIV.  LA   DESIREE 

XXXV.  FOREST    LOVE 

XXXVI.  THE   LADY    PIETOSA   DE   BREAUTE 


PAGE 
256 

265 

276 

282 

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302 

3" 
323 

332 

340 

351 
361 

365 
3'/^ 


THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

CHAPTER   I 

PROSPER    LE    GAI    RIDES    OUT 

My  Story  will  take  you  into  times  and  spaces 
alike  rude  and  uncivil.  Blood  will  be  spilt, 
virgins  suffer  distresses ;  the  horn  will  sound 
through  woodland  glades;  dogs,  wolves,  deer, 
and  men,  Beauty  and  the  Beasts,  will  tumble 
each  other,  seeking  life  or  death  with  their 
proper  tools.  There  should  be  mad  work,  not 
devoid  of  entertainment.  When  you  read  the 
word  Explicit,  if  you  have  laboured  so  far,  you 
will  know  something  of  Morgraunt  Forest  and 
the  Countess  Isabel ;  the  Abbot  of  Holy  Thorn 
will  have  postured  and  schemed  (with  you  behind 
the  arras)  ;  you  will  have  wandered  with  Isoult 
and  will  know  why  she  was  called  La  Desirous, 
with  Prosper  le  Gai,  and  will  understand  how  a 
man  may  fall  in  love  with  his  own  wife.  Finally, 
of  Galors  and  his  aifairs,  of  the  great  difference 
there  may  be  between  a  Christian  and  the  brutes,- 
of  love  and  hate,  grudging  and  open  humour,  faith 
and  works,  cloisters  and  thoughts  uncloistered — 
all  in  the  green  wood — you  will  know  as  much 


2  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

as  I  do  if  you  have  cared  to  follow  the  argument. 
I  hope  you  will  not  ask  me  what  it  all  means,  or 
what  the  moral  of  it  is.  I  rank  myself  with  the 
historian  in  this  business  of  tale-telling,  and 
consider  that  my  sole  affair  is  to  hunt  the  argu- 
ment dispassionately.  Your  romancer  must  be 
neither  a  lover  of  his  heroine  nor  (as  the  fashion 
now  sets)  of  his  chief  rascal.  He  must  affect  a 
genial  height,  that  of  a  jigger  of  strings  ;  and  his 
attitude  should  be  that  of  the  Pulpiteer  : — Heaven 
help  you,  gentlemen,  but  I  know  what  is  best  for 
you  I     Leave  everything  to  me. 

It  is  related  of  Prosper  le  Gai,  that  when  his 
brother  Malise,"Baron  of  Starning  and  Parrox, 
showed  him  the  door  of  their  father's  house,  and 
showed  it  with  a  meaning  not  to  be  mistaken,  he 
stuck  a  sprig  of  green  holly  in  his  cap.  He  put 
on  his  armour  ;  his  horse  and  sword  also  he  took  : 
he  was  for  the  wilds.  Baron  Jocelyn's  soul,  the 
priests  reported,  was  with  God ;  his  body  lay 
indubitably  under  a  black  effigy  in  Starning 
Church.  Baron  Malise  was  lord  of  the  fee,  with 
a  twisted  face  for  Prosper  whenever  they  met  in 
the  hall :  had  there  been  scores  no  deeper  this 
was  enough.  Prosper  was  a  youth  to  whom  life 
was  a  very  pretty  thing ;  he  could  not  afford  to 
have  tarnish  on  the  glass ;  he  must  have  pleasant 
looks  about  him  and  a  sweet  air,  or  at  least  scope 
for  the  making  of  them.  Baron  Malise  blew  like 
a  miasma  and  cramped  him  like  a  church-pew : 
then  Adventure  beaconed  from  far  off,  and  his 
heart  leapt  to  greet  the  light.  He  left  at  dawn, 
and  alone.  Roy,  his  page,  had  begged  as  hard 
as  he  dared  for  pillion  or  a  donkey.     He  was  his 


PROSPER   LE   GAI   RIDES   OUT  3 

master's  only  friend,  but  Prosper's  temper  needed 
no  props.  "Roy,"  said  he,  "what  I  do  I  will 
do  alone,  nor  will  I  imperil  any  man's  bread. 
The  bread  of  my  brother  Malise  may  be  a  trifle 
over-salt  to  my  taste,  but  to  you  it  is  better  than 
none  at  all.  Season  your  tongue,  Roy,  enure 
it.  Drink  water,  dry  your  eyes,  and  forget  me 
not." 

He  kissed  him  twice  and  went  his  way  without 
any  more  farewells  than  the  boy's  snivelling. 
He  never  looked  behind  at  Starning  demesne, 
where  he  had  been  born  and  bred  and  might 
have  followed  his  father  to  church,  nor  sideways 
at  the  broad  oaks,  nor  over  to  the  well-tilled 
fields  on  either  side  his  road ;  but  rather  pricked 
forward  at  a  nimble  pace  which  tuned  to  the 
running  of  his  blood.  The  blood  of  a  lad  sings 
sharpest  in  the  early  morning ;  the  air  tingles,  the 
light  thrills,  all  the  great  day  is  to  come.  This 
lad  therefore  rode  with  a  song  towards  the  West, 
following  his  own  shadow,  down  the  deep  Starn- 
ing lanes,  through  the  woods  and  pastures  of 
Parrox,  over  the  grassy  spaces  of  the  Downs, 
topping  the  larks  in  thought,  and  shining  beam 
for  beam  against  the  new-risen  sun.  The  time  of 
his  going-out  was  September  of  the  harvest :  a 
fresh  wet  air  was  abroad.  He  looked  at  the  thin 
blue  of  the  sky,  he  saw  dew  and  gossamer  lie 
heavy  on  the  hedge-rows.  All  his  heart  laughed. 
Prosper  was  merry. 

Whither  he  should  go,  what  find,  how  fare,  he 
knew  iiot  at  all.  Morgraunt  was  before  him,  and 
of  Morgraunt  all  the  country  spoke  in  a  whisper. 
It  was  far,  it  was  deep,    it  was  dark  as    nighty 


4  THE   FOREST    LOVERS 

haunted  with  the  waving  of  perpetual  woods ;  it 
lay  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  a 
mystery  as  inviolate  as  either.  In  it  outlaws, 
men  desperate  and  hungry,  ran  wild.  It  was  a 
den  of  thieves  as  well  as  of  wolves.  Men,  young 
men  too,  had  ridden  in,  high-hearted,  proud  of 
their  trappings,  horses,  curls,  and  what  not ;  none 
had  ever  seen  them  come  out.  They  might  be 
roaming  there  yet,  grown  old  with  roaming,  and 
gaunt  with  the  everlasting  struggle  to  kill  before 
they  were  killed :  who  could  tell  ?  Or  they 
might  have  struck  upon  the  vein  of  savage  life ; 
they  might  go  roaring  and  loving  and  robbing 
with  the  beasts-^-why  not:  Morgraunt  had 
swallowed  them  up ;  who  could  guess  to  what 
wild  uses  she  turned  her  thralls  ?  That  was  a 
place,  pardieu !  Prosper,  very  certain  that  at 
twenty-three  it  is  a  great  thing  to  be  hale  and 
astride  a  horse,  felt  also  that  to  grow  old  without 
having  given  Morgraunt  a  chance  of  killing  you 
young  would  be  an  insipid  performance.  "  As 
soon  be  a  priest !  "  he  would  cry,  "  or,  by  the 
Rood,  one  of  those  flat-polled  monks  kept  there 
by  the  Countess  Isabel."  Morgraunt  then  for 
Prosper,  and  the  West ;  beyond  that —  "  One 
thing  at  a  time,"  thought  he,  for  he  was  a  wise 
youth  in  his  way,  and  held  to  the  legend  round 
his  arms.  Seeing  that  south  of  him  he  could 
now  smell  the  sea,  and  beyond  him  lay  Mor- 
graunt, he  would  look  no  further  till  Morgraunt 
lay  below  him  appeased  or  subjugate. 

A  tall  and  lean  youth  was  Prosper  le  Gai, 
fair-haired  and  sanguine,  square-built  and  square- 
chinned.      He    smiled    at   you;    you   saw   two 


PROSPER    LE    GAI  RIDES    OUT  5 

capital  rows  of  white  teeth,  two  humorous  blue 
eyes;  you  would  think,  what  a  sweet-tempered 
lad  !  So  in  the  main  he  was ;  but  you  would 
find  out  that  he  could  be  dangerous,  and  that 
(curiously)  the  more  dangerous  he  was,  the 
sweeter  his  temper  seemed  to  be.  If  you  crossed 
him  once,  he  would  stare;  twice,  he  would  laugh  ; 
three  times,  you  would  swear  he  was  your 
humble  servant ;  but  before  you  could  cross  him 
again  he  would  have  knocked  you  down.  The 
next  moment  he  would  give  you  a  hand  up,  and 
apologize ;  after  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
you  might  count  him  your  friend  for  life.  The 
fact  is,  that  he  was  one  of  those  men  w^ho,  like 
kings,  require  a  nominal  fealty  before  they  can 
love  you  with  a  whole  heart :  it  is  a  mere 
nothing.  But  somebody,  they  think,  must  lead. 
Prosper  always  felt  so  desperately  sure  it  must  be 
he.  That  was  apt  to  lend  a  frenzy  to  his  stroke 
and  a  cool  survey  to  his  eye  (as  being  able  to 
take  so  much  for  granted),  which  made  him  a 
good  friend  and  a  nasty  enemy. 

It  also  made  him,  as  you  will  have  occasion  to 
see,  a  born  fighter.  He  went,  indeed,  through 
those  years  of  his  life  on  tiptoe,  as  it  were,  for  a 
fight.  He  had  a  light  and  springing  carriage  of 
the  head,  enough  to  set  his  forelock  nodding ; 
his  eye  roved  like  a  sea-bird's ;  his  lips  often 
parted  company,  for  his  breath  was  eager.  He 
had  a  trick  of  laughing  to  himself  softly  as 
he  went  about  his  business ;  or  else  he  sang, 
as  he  was  now  singing.  These  qualities,  little 
habits,  affectations,  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
them,  sound   immaterial,  but   they  really   point 


6  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

to  the  one  thing  that  made  him  remarkable — the 
curious  blend  of  opposites  in  him.  He  blent 
benevolence  with  savagery,  reflectiveness  with 
activity.  He  could  think  best  when  thought  and 
act  might  jump  together,  laugh  most  quietly  when 
the  din  of  swords  and  horses  drowned  the  voice, 
love  his  neighbour  most  sincerely  when  about  to 
cut  his  throat.  The  smell  of  blood,  the  sight  of 
wounds,  or  the  flicker  of  blades,  made  him  drunk; 
but  he  was  one  of  those  who  grow  steady  in  their 
cups.  You  might  count  upon  him  at  a  pinch. 
Lastly,  he  was  no  fool,  and  was  disposed  to  credit 
other  people  with  a  balance  of  wit. 

He  disliked  frippery,  yet  withal  made  a  brave 
show  in  the  sun.  His  plain  black  mail  was  covered 
with  a  surcoat  of  white  and  green  linen  ;  over  this 
a  narrow  baldrick  of  red  bore  in  gold  stitches  his 
device  of  a  hooded  falcon,  and  his  legend  od  sl 
scroll,  many  times  repeated  and  intercrossed — / 
bide  my  time.  In  his  helmet  were  three  red 
feathers,  on  his  shield  the  blazon  of  his  house 
of  Gai — 0)1  afield  sable,  afesse  dancettee  o?;  with 
a  mullet  for  difl'erence.  He  carried  no  spear ;  for 
a  man  of  his  light  build  the  sword  was  the  arm. 
Thus  then,  within  and  without,  was  Messire 
Prosper  le  Gai,  youngest  son  of  old  Baron 
Jocelyn,  deceased,  riding  into  the  heart  of  the 
noon,  pleased  with  himself  and  the  world,  light- 
minded,  singing  of  the  movement  and  the  road. 

Labourers  stayed  their  reaping  to  listen  to  him; 
but  there  was  nothing  for  them.  He  sang  of 
adventure.  Girls  leaned  at  cottage  doorways  to 
watch  him  down  the  way.  There  was  nothing 
for  them  either,  for  all  he  sang  of  love. 


PROSPER    LE   GAI    RIDES   OUT  7 

"  She  who  now  hath  my  heart 
Is  so  in  every  part ;  "  etc.,  etc. 

The  words  came  tripping  as  a  learnt  lesson ;  but 
he  had  never  loved  a  girl,  and  fancied  he  never 
would.  Women  ?  Petticoats !  For  him  there 
was  more  than  one  adventure  in  life.  Rather,  my 
lady's  chamber  was  the  last  place  in  which  he 
would  have  looked  for  adventure. 

On  the  second  day  of  his  journey — in  a  country 
barren  and  stony,  yet  with  a  hint  of  the  leafy 
wildernesses  to  come  in  the  ridges  spiked  with 
pines,  the  cropping  of  heather  here  and  there,  and 
the  ever-increasing  solitude  of  his  way — he  was 
set  upon  by  four  foot-pads,  who  thought  to  beat 
the  life  out  of  his  body  as  easily  as  boys  that  of  a 
dog.  He  asked  nothing  better  than  that  they 
should  begin  ;  and  he  asked  so  civilly  that  they 
very  soon  did.  The  fancy  of  glorious  youth 
transformed  them  into  knights-at-arms,  and  their 
ashen  cudgels  into  blades.  The  only  pity  was 
that  the  end  came  so  soon.  His  sword  dug  its 
first  sod,  and  might  have  carved  four  cowards 
instead  of  one;  but  he  was  no  vampire,  so  there- 
after laid  about  him  with  the  flat  of  the  tool. 
The  three  survivors  claimed  quarter.  "  Quarter, 
you  rogues!"  cried  he.  "Kindly  lend  me  one 
of  your  staves  for  the  purpose."  He  gave  them 
a  drubbing  as  one  horsed  his  brother  in  turn, 
and  dropped  them,  a  chapfallen  trio,  beside  their 
dead.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  take  that  languid  gentle- 
man with  you,  and  be  so  good  for  the  rest  of  your 
journey  as  to  imitate  his  indifference  to  strangers. 
Thus  you  will  have  a  prosperous  passage.  Good- 
day  to  you." 


8  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

He  slept  on  the  scene  of  his  exploit,  rose  early, 
rode  fast,  and  by  noon  was  plainly  in  the  selvage 
of  the  great  woods.  The  country  was  split  into 
bleak  ravines,  a  pell-mell  of  rocks  and  boulders, 
and  a  sturdy  crop  of  black  pines  between  them. 
An  overgrowth  of  brambles  and  briony  ran  riot 
over  all.  Prosper  rode  up  a  dry  river-bed,  keep- 
ing steadily  west,  so  far  as  it  would  serve  him  ; 
found  himself  quagged  ere  a  dozen  painful  miles, 
floundered  out  as  best  he  might,  and  by  evening 
was  making  good  pace  over  a  rolling  bit  of  moor- 
land through  which  ran  a  sandy  road.  It  was  the 
highway  from  Wanmouth  to  Market  Basing  and 
the  north,  if  he  had  known.  Ahead  of  him  a 
solitary  wayfarer,  a  brown  bunch  of  a  friar,  from 
whose  hood  rose  a  thin  neck  and  a  shag  of  black 
hair  round  his  tonsure — like  storm-clouds  gather- 
ing about  a  full  moon — struck  manfully  forward 
on  a  pair  of  bare  feet. 

"  God  be  with  you,  brother  gentleman,"  cried 
the  friar,  turning  a  crab-apple  face  upwards, 

"  And  with  you,  my  brother,  who  carry  your 
slippers,"  Prosper  replied. 

"  Eh,  eh,  brother  !  They  go  softer  than  steel 
for  a  gouty  toe." 

"Poor  gout.  Master  Friar,  I  hope,  for  Saint 
Francis'  peace  of  mind." 

"My  gentleman,"  said  the  friar,  "let  me  tell 
you  the  truth.  I  am  a  poor  devil  out  of  Lucca, 
built  for  matrimony  and  the  chimney  corner,  as 
Grandfather  Adam  was  before  me.  Brother 
Bonaccord  of  Outremer  they  call  me  in  religion, 
but  ill-accord  I  am  in  temper,  by  reason  of  the 
air  of  this   accursed  land,  and  a  most  tempestuous 


PROSPER    LE    GAI    RIDES    OUT  9 

blood  of  my  own.  For  why  !  I  go  to  the  Domi- 
nicans of  W^anmouth,  supplicating  that  I  am  new 
landed,  and  have  no  convent  to  my  name  and 
establishment  in  the  Church.  They  take  me  in. 
Ha  !  they  do  that.  Look  now.  '  A  sop  of  bread 
and  wine,'  I  cry,  '  for  the  love  of  God.'  It  is  a 
Catholic  food,  very  comfortable  for  the  stomach. 
Ha!  they  give  me  beer.  Beer?  Wet  death! 
I  am  by  now  as  gouty  as  a  cardinal,  and  my  eye 
is  inflamed.  I  think  of  the  Lucchese — those 
shafts  of  joy  miscalled  women — when  I  should 
be  thinking  of  my  profession.  I  am  ready  as 
ever  to  admit  two  vows,  but  Saint  Paul  himself 
cannot  reconcile  me  to  the  third.  Beer,  my  friend, 
beer." 

"  You  will  do  well  enough,  friar,  if  you  are 
going  the  forest  road.  You  will  find  no  Lucchesan 
ladies  thereabouts." 

"  I  am  none  so  sure,  gentleman.  There  were 
tales  told  at  the  Wan  mouth  hostel.  Do  you 
know  anything  of  a  very  holy  place  in  these 
parts,  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Giles  of  the  Thorn  ? 
Black  monks,  my  brother ;  black  as  your 
stallion." 

"  I  think  they  are  white  monks,"  said  Prosper, 
"  Bernardines." 

"  I  spoke  of  the  colour  of  their  deeds,  young 
sir,"  answered  Brother  Bonaccord. 

"  I  know  as  little  of  them  as  of  any  monks  in 
Christendom,  friar,"  Prosper  said.  "  But  I  have 
seen  the  Abbot  and  spoken  with  him.  Richard 
I^ieudonne  is  his  name,  well  friended  by  the 
Countess." 

"  He  is  well  friended  by  many  ladies,  some  of 


lo  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

account,  and  some  of  none  at  all,  by  what  I  hear," 
said  the  friar,  rather  dryly  for  such  a  twinkling 
spirit. 

"  Ah,  with  ladies,"  Prosper  put  in,  "  you  have 
me  again  ;  for  I  know  less  of  them  than  of  monks, 
save  that  both  have  petticoats.  Your  pardon, 
brother." 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit,  brother  again,"  replied 
the  friar.  "I  admit  the  hindrance;  and  could 
tell  you  of  the  advantages  if  I  had  the  mind.  But 
as  to  the  ladies,  suffer  me  to  predict  that  you 
will  know  more  of  them  before  you  have  done." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Prosper.  Brother  Bonac- 
cord  began  to  laugh. 

"  They  will  give  you  no  peace  yet  awhile," 
said  he.  "  And  let  me  tell  you  this,  from  a 
man  who  knows  what  he  is  talking  about,  that 
if  you  think  to  escape  them  by  neglecting  them, 
you  are  going  the  devil's  way  to  work.  If 
you  wish  them  to  let  you  alone,  speak  them 
fair,  drop  easily  to  your  knee,  be  a  hand-kisser, 
a  cushion-disposer,  a  goer  on  your  toes.  They 
will  think  you  a  lover  and  shrug  you  away. 
Never  do  a  woman  a  service  as  if  to  oblige  her  ; 
do  it  as  if  to  oblige  yourself.  Then  she  will 
believe  you  her  slave.  Then  you  are  safe.  That 
is  your  game,  brother." 

"  You  have  studied  ladies,  friar  ?  " 

"Ah,  ah!  I  have  indeed.  They  are  a  wondrous 
fair  book.      I  know  no  other.     Why  should  I  ? " 

'*Oh,  why  indeed ?"  Prosper  assented.  "For 
my  part,  I  find  other  studies  more  engrossing." 

With  such  talk  they  went  until  they  reached  a 
little  wood,  and  then  disposed  of  themselves  for 


PROSPER   LE    GAI    RIDES   OUT  n 

the  night.  When  Prosper  woke  next  morning 
the  good  man  had  gone.  He  had  left  a  written 
message  to  the  effect  that,  petticoats  or  none,  he 
had  stolen  a  march  on  steel,  and  might  be  looked 
for  at  Mai  bank. 

"  I  wonder  how  much  stuff  for  his  mind  that 
student  of  ladies  will  win  at  Malbank,"  laughed 
Prosper  to  himself,  little  knowing,  indeed. 


CHAPTER   II 

MORGRAUNT,    AND    A    DEAD    KNIGHT 

Leaving  the  high  road  on  his  right  hand, 
Prosper  struck  over  the  heath  towards  a  solemn 
beech-wood,  which  he  took  to  be  the  very  thresh- 
old of  Morgraunt.  As  a  fact  it  was  no  more 
than  an  outstret-ched  finger  of  its  hand,  by  name 
Cadnam  Thicket.  He  skirted  this  place,  seeking 
an  entry,  but  found  nothing  to  suit  him  for  an 
hour  or  more.  Then  at  last  he  came  to  a  gap  in 
the  sandy  bank,  and  saw  that  a  little  mossy  ride 
ran  straight  in  among  the  trees.  He  put  his 
horse  at  the  gap,  and  was  soon  cantering  happily 
through  the  wood.  Thus  he  came  short  upon 
an  adventure.  The  path  ran  ahead  of  him  in  a 
tapering  vista,  but  just  where  it  should  meet  in 
a  point  it  broadened  out  suddenly  so  as  to  make 
a  double  bay.  The  light  fell  splashing  upon  this 
cleared  space,  and  he  saw  what  he  saw. 

This  was  a  tall  lady,  richly  dressed  in  some 
gauzy  purple  stuff,  dragging  a  dead  man  by  the 
heels,  and  making  a  very  bad  business  of  it. 
She  was  dainty  to  view,  her  hands  and  arms 
shone  like  white  marble ;  but  apart  from  all  this 
it  was  clear  to  Prosper  that  she  lacked  the  mere 
strength  for  the  office  she  had  proposed  herself. 


MORGRAUNT,  AND  A  DEAD  KNIGHT     13 

The  dead  man  was  not  very  tall,  but  he  was  too 
tall  for  the  lady.  The  roughness  of  the  ground, 
the  resistance  of  the  underwood,  the  incapacity  of 
the  performers,  made  the  procession  unseemly. 

Prosper,  forgetting  Brother  Bonaccord,  quick- 
ened his  horse  to  a  gallop,  and  was  soon  up  with 
the  toiling  lady.  She  stopped  when  she  heard 
him  coming,  stood  up  to  wait  for  him,  quick- 
breathing  and  a  little  flushed,  and  never  took  her 
eyes  off  him. 

It  was  clearly  a  time  for  discretion :  so  much 
she  signalled  from  her  brown  eyes,  which  were 
watchful,  but  by  no  means  timid.  He  remem- 
bered afterwards  that  they  had  been  apt  to  fall 
easily  into  set  stares,  and  thus  to  give  her  a  bold 
look  which  seemed  to  invite  you  to  be  bold  also. 
But  though  he  could  not  see  this  now,  and 
though  he  had  no  taste  for  women,  it  was  certain 
she  was  handsome  in  a  profuse  way.  She  had  a 
broad  full  bust ;  her  skin,  dazzling  white  at  the 
neck,  ran  into  golden  russet  before  it  reached  the 
burnt  splendour  of  her  cheeks ;  her  mouth,  rather 
long  and  curved  up  at  the  corners,  had  lips  rich 
and  crimson,  of  which,  however,  the  upper  was 
short  to  a  fault,  and  so  curled  back  as  to  give  her 
a  pettish  or  fretful  look.  Her  dark  hair,  which 
was  plentiful  and  drawn  low  over  her  ears  into  a 
heavy  knot  at  the  nape  of  her  neck,  was  dressed 
within  a  fine  gold  net.  Her  arms  were  bare  to 
the  elbow,  large  and  sirsowy  white ;  from  her 
fingers  gems  and  gold  flashed  at  him.  Prosper, 
who  knew  nothing  whatever  about  it,  judged  her 
midway  between  thirty  and  forty.  Such  was 
the  lady ;  the   man   he   had   no  chance  of  over- 


t4  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

looking,  for  the  other  had  dropped  her  handker- 
chief upon  his  face  before  she  left  him. 

"  Sir,"  she  now  said,  in  a  smooth  and  distin- 
guishable voice,  when  Prosper  had  saluted  her, 
"you  may  do  me  a  great  service  if  you  will, 
which  is  to  carry  this  dead  man  to  his  grave  in 
the  wood." 

"  By  the  faith  I  have,"  Prosper  replied,  "  I 
will  help  you  all  1  can.  But  when  we  have 
buried  him  you  shall  tell  me  how  he  came  by 
his  death,  and  how  it  is  that  his  grave  is  waiting 
for  him." 

"  I  can  tell  you  that  at  once,"  she  said  quickly ; 
"^  I  have  but  just  dug  it  with  a  mattock  I  was  so 
lucky  as  to  find  by  a  stopped  earth  on  the  bank 
yonder.  The  rest  I  will  gladly  acquaint  you  with 
by  and  by.     But  first  let  us  be  rid  of  him." 

Prosper  dismounted  and  went  to  take  up  his 
burden.  First  of  all,  however,  he  deliberately 
removed  the  handkerchief  and  looked  it  in  the 
face.  The  dead  man  lay  stiff  and  staring,  with 
open  eyes  and  a  wry  mouth.  Hands  and  face 
were  livid,  a  light  froth  had  gathered  on  his  lips. 
He  looked  to  have  suffered  horribly — as  much  in 
mind  as  body :  the  agony  must  have  bitten  deep 
into  him  for  the  final  peace  of  death  never  to 
have  come.  Now  Prosper  knew  very  little  of  death 
as  yet,  save  that  he  had  an  idea  that  he  himself 
would  never  come  to  endure  it ;  but  he  knew 
enough  to  be  sure  that  neither  battle  nor  honour 
had  had  any  part  here.  The  man  had  been  well- 
dressed  in  brown  and  tawny  velvet,  was  probably 
handsome  in  a  sharp,  foreign  sort.  There  was  a 
ring  upon  his  finger,  a  torn  badge  upon  his  left 


MORGRAUNT,  AND   A  DEAD   KNIGHT      15 

breast,  with  traces  of  a  device  in  white  threads 
which  could  not  be  well  made  out.  Puzzling 
over  it,  Prosper  thought  to  read  three  white  forms 
on  it — water-bougets,  perhaps,  or  billets — he  could 
not  be  sure.  The  whole  affair  seemed  to  him  to 
hold  some  shameful  secret  behind  :  he  thought 
of  poison,  or  the  just  visitation  of  God  ;  but  then 
he  thought  of  the  handsome  lady,  and  was 
ashamed  to  see  that  such  a  conclusion  must 
involve  her  in  the  mess.  Pitying,  since  he  could 
not  judge,  he  lifted  the  body  in  his  arms  and 
followed  the  lady's  lead  through  the  brushwood. 
At  the  end  of  some  two  hundred  yards  or  more  of 
battling  with  the  boughs,  she  stopped,  and  pointed 
to  a  pit,  with  a  mattock  lying  on  the  heaped  earth 
close  by.     "There  is  the  grave,"  she  said. 

"  The  grave  is  a  shallow  grave,"  said  Prosper. 

"It  is  deeper  than  he  was,"  quoth  the  lady. 
There  was  a  ring  in  this  rather  ugly  to  hear,  as 
all  scorn  is  out  of  tune  with  a  dead  presence. 
You  might  as  well  be  contemptuous  of  a  baby. 
But  Prosper  was  no  fool,  to  think  at  the  wrong 
time.  He  laid  the  body  down  in  the  grave,  and 
busied  himself  to  compose  it  into  some  semblance 
of  the  rest  there  should  be  in  that  bed  at  least. 
This  was  hard  to  be  done,  since  it  was  as  stiff  as 
a  board,  and  took  time.  The  lady  grew  impa- 
tient, fidgeted  about,  walked  up  and  down,  could 
not  stand  for  a  moment  :  but  she  said  nothing.  At 
last  Prosper  stood  up  by  the  side  of  the  grave, 
having  done  his  best. 

"  I  am  no  priest,"  says  he,  "  God  knows ;  but 
I  cannot  put  a  man's  body  into  the  earth  without 
in  some  sort  commending  his  soul.     I  must  do 


1 6  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

what  I  can,  and  you  must  pardon  an  indifferent 
advocate,  as  God  will." 

"  If  you  are  advised  by  me,"  said  the  lady,  "  you 
will  leave  that  affair  where  it  is.  The  man  was 
worthless." 

"  We  cannot  measure  his  worth,  madam : 
we  have  no  tools  for  that.  The  utmost  we  can 
do  is  to  bury  part  of  him,  and  pray  for  the  other 
part." 

"  You  speak  as  a  priest  whom  I  had  tliought 
a  soldier,"  said  she  with  some  asperity.  "  If  you 
are  what  you  now  seem,  I  will  remind  you  of  a 
saying  which  should  be  familiar — Let  the  dead 
bury  their  dead." 

"  As  I  live  by  bread,"  Prosper  cried  out,  "  I 
will  commend  this  mans  soul  whither  it  is  going." 

"Then  I  will  not  listen  to  you,  sir,"  she 
answered  in  a  pale  fume.  "I  cannot  listen  to 
you. 

Prosper  grew  extremely  poUte.  "  Madam, 
there  is  surely  no  need,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
cannot  you  will  not.  Moreover,  I  should  in  any 
case  address  myself  elsewhere." 

He  had  folded  the  dead  man's  arms  over  his 
breast,  and  shut  his  eyes.  He  had  wiped  his  lips. 
The  tiling  seemed  more  at  peace.  So  he  crossed 
himself  and  began,  In  nomine patn's,  etc.,  a.nd  then 
recited  the  Paternoster.  This  almost  exhausted 
his  stock,  though  it  did  not  satisfy  his  aspirations. 
His  words  burst  from  him.  "O  thou  pitiful 
dead  !  "  he  cried  out,  "  go  thou  where  Pity  is,  in 
the  hope  some  morsels  may  be  justly  thine. 
Rest  thou  there,  who  wast  not  restful  in  thine 
end,  and  quitted  not  willingly  thy  tenement;  rest 


MORGRAUNT,  AND   A   DEAD    KNIGHT      17 

thou  there  till  thou  art  called.  And  when  thou 
art  called  to  give  an  account  of  thyself  and  thine 
own  works,  may  that  which  men  owe  thee  be 
remembered  with  that  which  thou  dost  owe  !  Per 
Christum  dominum^^  etc. 

He  bowed  his  head,  crossed  himself  very 
piously  ;  then  stood  still,  smiling  gendy  upon  the 
man  he  knew  nothing  of,  save  that  he  had  been 
young  and  had  lost  his  race.  He  did  not  see 
the  lady  ;  she  was,  however,  near  by,  not  looking 
at  the  man  at  the  grave,  but  first  at  Prosper  and 
then  at  the  ground.  Her  fingers  were  twisting 
and  tanghng  together,  and  her  bosom,  restless  as 
the  sea,  rose  and  fell  fitfully.  She  was  pale,  save 
at  the  lips;  like  Prosper  she  smiled,  but  the 
smile  was  stiff.  Prosper  set  to  work  with  the 
shovel  and  soon  filled  up  the  grave.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  lady. 

"  And  now,  madam,  we  will  talk  a  little,  if  you 
please."  He  had  a  cool  and  level  voice ;  yet  it 
came  upon  her  as  if  it  could  have  but  one  answer. 

She  looked  at  him  for  some  seconds  without 
reply.  For  his  part,  Prosper  had  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  equally  on  her ;  hers  fell  first. 

She  coloured  a  little  as  she  said — ''  Very  will- 
ingly. You  have  done  me  a  service  for  which  I 
am  very  much  in  your  debt.  You  shall  command 
me  as  you  will,  and  find  me  ready  to  recompense 
you  with  what  I  have."  She  stopped  as  if  to 
judge  the  weight  of  her  words,  then  went  on 
slowly — "  I  know  not,  indeed,  how  could  I  deny 
you  anything." 

Prosper  could  have  seen,  if  he  would,  the 
quickened   play  of  her   breath. 


i8  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  open,"  said  he,  "  and  find 
my  horse.  Then  you  shall  tell  me  whence  you 
are,  and  whither  I  may  speed  you,  and  how 
safeliest — with  other  things  proper  to  be  known." 

They  went  together.  "My  lord,"  said  she 
then,  "  my  lodging  is  far  from  here  and  ill  to 
come  by.  Nevertheless,  I  know  of  a  hermitage 
hard  at  hand  where  we  could  rest  a  little,  and 
thereafter  we  could  find  the  way  to  my  house. 
Will  you  come  with  me  thither  ? " 

"  Whither  ?  "  asked  Prosper. 

"  Ah,  the  hermitage,  or  wheresoever  you  will." 

Prosper  looked  steadily  at  her. 

"  Tell  me  the  name  and  condition  of  the  dead 
man,"  said  he. 

"  Ranulf  de  Genlis,  a  knight  of  Brittany." 

"  The  badge  "^on  his  breast  was  of  our  blazonry," 
said  Prosper,  half  to  himself,  "  and  he  looked  to 
have  been  of  this  side  the  Southern  Sea." 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  word,  Sir  Knight  ?  " 

"  Madam,  I  do  not  question  it.  Will  you  tell 
me  how  he  came  by  his  death  ? " 

"  I  was  hunting  very  early  in  the  morning  with 
my  esquires  and  ladies,  and  by  ill-hap  lost  them 
and  my  way.  After  many  wanderings  in  search 
of  either,  I  encountered  this  man  now  dead,  and 
inquired  news  of  him.  He  held  me  some  time 
in  talk,  delayed  me  with  sham  diligence,  and  at 
last  and  suddenly  professed  an  ardent  love  for 
me.  I  was  frightened,  for  I  was  alone  in  the 
wood  with  him,  in  a  glade  not  far  from  here. 
And  it  seemed  that  I  had  reason,  since  from 
words  he  went  on  to  force  and  clamour  and 
violence.     I  had  almost  succumbed — I  know  not 


MORGRAUNT,  AND   A   DEAD    KNIGHT     19 

how  to  hint  at  the  fate  which  threatened  me,  or 
guess  how  long  I  could  have  struggled  against  it. 
He  had  closed  with  me,  he  held  me  in  a  vice ; 
then  all  at  once  he  loosed  hold  of  me  and 
shuddered.  Some  seizure  or  sudden  stroke  of 
judgment  overtook  him,  I  suppose,  so  that  he 
fell  and  lay  writhing,  with  a  foam  on  his  lips,  as 
you  saw.  You  may  judge,"  she  added,  after 
waiting  for  some  comment  from  Prosper,  which 
did  not  come,  "  you  may  judge  whether  this  is  a 
pleasant  tale  for  me  to  tell,  and  whether  I  should 
tell  it  willingly  to  any  man.  For  what  one 
attempted  against  me  another  might  also  try — 
and  not  fail." 

She  stopped  and  glanced  at  her  companion. 
The  manner  in  each  of  them  was  changed ;  the 
lady  was  not  the  scornful  beauty  she  had  seemed, 
while  Prosper's  youth  was  dry  within  him.  She 
seemed  a  suppliant,  he  a  judge,  deliberate.  Such 
a  story  from  such  an  one  would  have  set  him  on 
fire  an  hour  ago  ;  but  now  his  words  came  sharply 
from  him,  whistling  like  a  shrill  wind. 

"The  grave  was  dug  overnight,"  was  what  he 
said. 

The  lady  started  and  paled.  Then  she  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  said — "  Do  you  again  doubt  my 
word,  sir  ? " 

"  I  do  not  question  it,"  he  replied  as  before. 
It  is  a  fact  that  he  had  noticed  tlie  turned  earth 
by  the  pit.  There  was  gossamer  upon  it,  but 
that  said  little.  Rabbits  had  been  there  also,  and 
that  said  everything. 

The  lady  said  nothing  more,  and  in  silence 
they  went  on  until  they  reached   a  fork  in  the 


20  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

path.  Prosper  stopped  here.  One  path  led 
north,   the   other  west. 

"  Here  is  my  road/'  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
west. 

"  The  hermitage  is  close  by,  my  lord,"  urged 
the  lady  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  pray  my  lord  to  rest 
him  there." 

"  That  I  cannot  do,"  says  he. 

She  affected  indignation.  "  Is  it  then  in  the 
honour  of  a  knight  to  desert  a  lonely  lady  ?  I 
am  learning  strange  doctrine,  strange  chivalry ! 
Farewell,  sir.  You  are  young.  Maybe  you  will 
learn  with  years  that  when  a  lady  stoops  to  beg 
it  is  more  courtly  to  forestall  her." 

Prosper  stood  leaning  on  his  shield.  "The 
knight's  honour,"  he  said,  "  is  in  divers  holds — 
in  his  lady's,  in  God's,  and  in  the  king's.  Tliese 
three  fly  not  always  the  same  flag,  but  two  at 
least  of  them  should  be  in  pact." 

"Ah,"  said  she  slyly,  "ah,  Sir  Discreet,  I  see 
that  you  have  the  lady  first." 

Prosper  grew  graver.  "  I  said  '  his  lady/  "  he 
repeated. 

"  And  could  not  I,  for  such  service  as  yours, 
be  your  lady,  fair  sir  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  very  low 
and  troubled  voice.  "  At  least  I  am  here — alone 
— in  the  wood — and  at  your  mercy." 

Prosper  looked  straight  in  front  of  him,  grave, 
working  his  mouth.  Those  who  knew  him  would 
have  gone  by  the  set  of  his  chin.  He  may  have 
been  thinking  of  Brother  Bonaccord's  prediction, 
or  of  the  not  very  veiled  provocation  of  the  lady's 
remarkable  candour.  There  grew  to  be  a  rather 
bleak  look  in  his  face,  something  blenched   his 


MORGRAUNT,  AND   A   DEAD   KNIGHT      21 

blue  eyes.     He  turned  sharply  upon  the  woman, 
and  his  voice  was  like  a  frost. 

"  Having  slain  one  man  this  day,"  he  said,  "  I 
should  recommend  you  to  be  wary  how  you  tread 
with  another." 

She  stared  open-mouthed  at  him  for  a  full 
minute  and  a  half.  Then,  seeing  he  never  winked 
or  budged,  she  grew  frightened  and  piteous,  threw 
her  arms  up,  turned,  and  fled  up  the  north  path, 
squealing  like  a  wounded  rabbit. 

Prosper  clapped-to  his  spurs  and  made  after 
her  with  his  teeth  grinding  together.  Very  soon, 
however,  he  pulled  up  short.  "  The  man  is  dead. 
Let  her  go  for  this  present.  And  I  am  not  quite 
sure.     I  will  bide  my  time." 

That  was  the  motto  of  the  Gais — "I  bide  my 
time."  He  was,  nevertheless,  perfectly  sure  in 
his  private  mind  ;  but  then  he  was  always  perfectly 
sure,  and  recognized  that  it  was  a  weakness  of 
his.  So  the  woman  went  her  way,  and  he  his 
for  that  turn.  .  .  . 

Riding  forward  carelessly,  with  a  loose  rein, 
he  slept  that  night  in  the  woods.  Next  day  he 
rode  fast  and  long  without  meeting  a  living  soul, 
and  so  came  at  last  into  Morgraunt  Forest,  where 
the  trees  shut  out  the  light  of  the  day,  and  very 
few  birds  sing.  He  entered  the  east  purlieus  in 
the  evening  of  his  fifth  day  from  Starning,  and 
slept  in  a  rocky  valley.  Tall  black  trees  stood 
all  round  him,  the  vanguards  of  the  forest  host. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOLY  THORN  AND  HOLY  CHURCH 

In  South  Morgraunt  stands  Holy  Thorn, 
more  properly  the  Abbey  of  Saint  Giles  of  Holy 
Thorn,  a  broad  and  fair  foundation,  one  of  the 
two  set  up  in  the  forest  by  the  Countess  Isabel, 
Dowager  of  March  and  Bellesme,  Countess  of 
Hauterive  and  Lady  of  Morgraunt  in  her  own 
right.  Where  the  Wan  river  makes  a  great 
loop,  running  east  for  three  miles,  and  west  again 
for  as  many  before  it  drives  its  final  surge  towards 
the  Southern  Sea,  there  stands  Holy  Thorn, 
Church  and  Convent,  watching  over  the  red 
roofs  of  Malbank  hamlet  huddled  together  across 
the  flood.  Here  are  green  water-meadows  and 
good  corn-lands,  the  abbey  demesne  ;  here  also 
are  the  strips  of  tillage  which  the  tenants  hold  ; 
here  the  sluices  which  head  up  the  river  for  the 
Abbey  mills,  make  thunderous  music  all  day 
long.  Over  this  cleared  space  and  over  some 
leagues  of  the  virgin  forest,  the  Abbot  of  Saint 
Thorn  has  sac  and  soc,  tholl  and  theam,  catch-a- 
thief-in,  catch-a-thief-out,  as  well  as  other  sove- 
reign prerogatives,  all  of  which  he  owes  to  the 
regret  and  remorse  of  the  Countess  Isabel  over 
the  death  of  her  first  husband  and  only  lover, 


HOLY  THORN  AND  HOLY  CHURCH  23 

Fulk  de  Breaute.  Further  north,  in  Mid-Mor- 
graunt,  is  Gracedieu,  her  other  foundation — 
equally  endowed,  but  holding  white  nuns 
instead  of  white  monks. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  as  Prosper  le  Gai 
entered  the  purlieus  of  Morgraunt,  the  Countess 
Isabel  sat  in  the  Abbey  parlour  of  Saint  Thorn, 
knitting  her  fine  brows  over  a  business  of  the 
Abbot's,  no  less  than  the  granting  of  a  new 
charter  of  pit  and  gallows,  pillory  and  tumbril  to 
him  and  his  house  over  the  villeins  of  Malbank, 
and  the  whole  fee  and  soke.  The  death  of  these 
unfortunates,  or  the  manner  of  it,  was  of  little 
moment ;  but  the  Countess,  having  much  power, 
was  jealous  how  she  lent  it.  She  sat  now,  there, 
fore,  in  the  Abbot's  great  chair,  and  before  her 
stood  the  Abbot  himself,  holding  in  his  hands 
the  charter  fairly  written  out  on  parchment, 
with  the  twisted  silk  of  three  colours  ready  to 
receive  her  seal.  It  was  exactly  this  which  she 
was  not  very  ready  to  give,  for  though  she  knew 
nothing  of  his  villeins,  she  knew  much  of  the 
Abbot,  and  was  of  many  minds  concerning  him. 
There  was  yet  time;  their  colloquy  was  in  secret; 
but  now  she  tapped  with  her  foot  upon  the  stool, 
and  the  Abbot  watched  her  narrowly.  He  was  a 
tall  and  personable  man,  famous  for  his  smile, 
stout  and  smooth,  his  skin  soft  as  a  woman's,  his 
robe,  his  ring,  his  cross  and  mere  slippers  all  in 
accord. 

At  length,  says  he,  "  Madam,  for  the  love  of 
the  Saints,  but  chiefly  for  Mary's  love ;  to  the 
glory  of  God  and  of  Saint  Giles  of  Holy  Thorn  ; 
to  the  ease  of  his  monks  and  the  honour  of  the 


24  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Church,  I  beseech  your  Ladyship  this  small 
boon." 

The  clear-cold  eyes  of  the  Countess  Isabel 
looked  long  at  him  before  she  said — "  Do  I  then 
show  love  to  the  Saints  and  give  God  honour, 
Lord  Abbot,  by  helping  you  swing  your  villeins  r 
Pit  and  gallows,  pillory  and  tumbril!  You  go 
too  far." 

"  Dear  lady,"  said  he,  "  I  go  no  further,  if  I 
have  them,  than  my  Sisters  of  Gracedieu.  That 
hedged  community  of  Christ's  brides  hath  all 
these  commodities  and  more,  even  the  para- 
mount privilege  of  Sanctuary,  which  is  an  appan- 
age of  the  very  highest  in  the  Holy  Fold.  And 
I  must  consider  it  as  scarcely  decent,  as  (by  the 
Mass)  not  seemly  at  all,  that  your  Holy  Thorn, 
this  sainted  sprig  of  your  planting,  should  lack 
the  power  to  prick.  Our  people,  madam,  do 
indeed  expect  it.  It  is  not  much.  Nay  !  " — for 
he  saw  his  Lady  frown  and  heard  her  toe-taps 
again — "  indeed,  it  is  not  much.  A  little  pit  for 
your  female  thief  to  swim  at  large,  for  your  witch 
and  bringer-in  of  hell's  ordinances;  a  decent  gal- 
lows a-top  for  your  proper  male  rascal ;  a  pillory  for 
your  tenderer  blossom  of  sin  while  he  qualify  for 
an  airy  crown,  or  find  space  for  repentance  and 
the  fruits  of  true  contrition  ;  lastly,  a  persuasive 
tumbril,  a  close  lover  for  your  incorrigible  wanton 
girls — homely  chastisement  such  as  a  father  Abbot 
may  bestow,  and  yet  wear  a  comely  face,  and  yet 
be  loved  by  those  he  chasteneth.  Madam,  is 
this  too  much  for  so  great  a  charge  as  ours  ? 
We  of  Holy  Thorn  nurture  the  good  seed 
with  scant    fortune,  being  ridden  down    by  evil 


HOLY  THORN  AND  HOLY  CHURCH   25 

livers,  deer-stealers,  notorious  persons,  scandalous 
persons.  A  little  pit,  therefore  !  a  little  limber 
gallows !  " 

But  the  Countess  mused  with  her  hand  to  her 
chin,  by  no  means  persuaded.  She  was  still  a 
young  woman,  and  a  very  lonely  one  ;  her  great 
prerogatives  (which  she  took  seriously)  tired  her 
to  death,  but  the  need  of  exercising  them  through 
other  people  was  worst  of  all.  Now  she  said 
doubtfully,  "  I  have  no  reason  in  especial  to  trust 
you,  Abbot." 

The  Abbot,  who  knew  better  than  she  how 
true  this  was,  bit  his  lip  and  remained  silent. 
He  was  a  very  comely  man  and  leaned  much  to 
persuasion,  particularly  with  women.  He  was 
always  his  own  audience  :  the  check,  therefore, 
amounted  to  exposure,  almost  put  him  to  open 
shame.  The  Countess  went  on  to  ask,  who  in 
particular  of  his  villeins  he  had  dread  of,  who  was 
turbulent,  who  a  deer-stealer,  who  notorious  as  a 
witch  or  wise  woman,  who  wanton  and  a  scandal- 
ous liver  ?  And  here  the  Abbot  was  apt  with  his 
names.  There  was  Red  Sweyn,  half  an  outlaw 
already,  and  by  far  too  handy  with  his  hunting- 
knife  ;  there  was  Pinwell,  as  merry  a  litde  rogue 
as  ever  spoiled  for  a  cord.  There  were  Rogerson 
and  Cutlaw ;  there  was  Torn  Sibby,  the  pro- 
curess. Maid  also,  a  withered  malignant  old 
wife,  who  had  once  blighted  a  year's  increase  by 
her  dealing  with  the  devil.  Here  was  stuff  for 
gallows,  pit  and  pillory,  all  dropping-ripe  for 
the  trick.  For  tumbril,  he  went  on  (watching 
his  adversary  like  a  cat),  "  who  so  proper  as 
black-haired    Isoult,   witch,    and    daughter    of  a 


26  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

witch,  called  by  men  Isoult  la  Desirous — and  a 
gaunt,  half-starved,  loose-legged  baggage  she  is," 
he  went  on  ;  "  reputed  of  vile  conversation  for 
all  the  slimness  of  her  years — witch,  and  a  witch's 
brat." 

He  looked  sideways  at  the  great  lady  as  he 
spoke  of  this  creature',  and  saw  that  all  was  going 
exactly  as  he  would  wish  it.  He  had  not  been 
the  Countess'  confessor  for  nothing,  nor  had  he 
learnt  in  vain  the  story  of  her  secret  marriage 
with  Fulk  de  Breaute,  and  of  the  murder  of  this 
youth  on  Spurnt  Heath  one  blowy  Bartlemy  Eve. 
And  for  this  reason  he  had  dared  to  bring  the  name 
of  Isoult  into  his  catalogue  of  rogues,  that  he  knew 
his  woman,  and  all  woman-kind ;  how  they  hate 
most  in  their  neighbours  that  which  they  are 
tenderest  of  in  themselves.  Let  there  be  no 
mistake  here.  The  Countess  had  been  no  luxu- 
rious liver,  though  a  most  unhappy  one.  The 
truth  is  that,  beautiful  woman  as  she  still  was, 
she  had  been  a  yet  more  beautiful  girl.  Countess 
of  Hauterive  in  her  own  right,  and  as  such 
betrothed  to  the  great  Earl  Roger  of  March  and 
Bellesme.  Earl  Roger,  who  was  more  than 
double  her  age,  went  out  to  fight ;  she  stayed  at 
home,  in  the  nursery  or  near  it,  and  Fulk  de 
Breaute  came  to  make  eyes.  These  he  made 
with  such  efficacy  that  Isabel  lost  her  heart  first 
and  her  head  afterwards,  wedded  Fulk  in  secret, 
bore  him  a  child,  and  was  the  indirect  means  of 
his  stabbing  by  the  Earl's  men  as  he  was  riding 
through  the  dark  over  Spurnt  Heath.  The  child 
was  given  to  the  Abbot's  keeping  (whence  it 
promptly  and  conveniently  vanished),  the  Countess 


HOLY  THORN  AND  HOLY  CHURCH   27 

was  married  to  the  Earl ;  then  the  Earl  died. 
Whereupon  she,  still  young,  childless  so  far  as 
she  could  learn,  and  possessed  of  so  much, 
founded  her  twin  abbeys  in  Morgraunt  to  secure 
peace  for  the  soul  of  Fulk  and  her  own  con- 
science. This  will  suffice  to  prove  that  the 
Abbot  had  some  grounds  for  his  manoeuvring. 
The  breaking  of  her  troth  to  the  Earl  she  held  to 
make  her  an  adulteress;  the  stabbing  of  Fulk 
by  the  Earl  to  prove  her  a  murderess.  There  was 
neither  mercy  nor  discernment  in  these  re- 
proaches. She  believed  herself  a  wanton  when 
she  had  been  but  a  lover.  For  no  sin,  therefore, 
had  she  so  little  charity  as  for  that  which  the 
Abbot  had  imputed  to  his  candidate  for  the  tum- 
bril. Isoult  la  Desirous  it  was  who  won  the 
charter,  as  the  Abbot  had  intended  she  should, 
to  serve  his  end  and  secure  her  own  according 
to  his  liking. 

For  the  charter  was  sealed  and  seisin  delivered 
in  the  presence  of  Dom  Galors,  almoner  of  the 
Abbey,  of  Master  Forges,  seneschal  of  High 
March,  and  of  one  or  two  mesne  lords  of  those 
parts.  Then  the  Countess  went  to  bed ;  and  at 
this  time  Prosper  le  Gai  was  also  lying  in  the 
fringes  of  Morgraunt,  asleep  on  his  shield  with 
his  red  cloak  over  him,  having  learned  from  a 
hind  whom  he  met  on  the  hill  that  at  Malbank 
Saint  Thorn  he  would  find  hospitality,  and  that 
his  course  must  lie  in  such  and  such  a  direction. 


CHAPTER   IV 

DOM    GALORS 

Next  day,  as  soon  as  the  Countess  had 
departed  for  High  March,  the  Abbot  Richard 
called  Dom  Galors,  his  almoner,  into  the  parlour 
and  treated  him  in  a  very  friendly  manner, 
makmg  him  sit  down  in  his  presence,  and  put- 
ting fruit  and  wine  before  him.  This  Galors, 
who  I  think  merits  some  scrutiny,  was  a  bullet- 
headed,  low-browed  fellow,  too  burly  for  his 
monkish  frock  (which  gave  him  the  look  of  a 
big  boy  in  a  pinafore),  with  the  jowl  of  a  master- 
butcher,  and  a  sullen  slack  mouth.  His  look  at 
you,  when  he  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground, 
had  tlie  hint  of  brutality — as  if  he  were  naming  a 
price — which  women  mistake  for  mastery,  and 
adore.  But  he  very  rarely  crossed  eyes  with  any 
one  ;  and  with  the  Abbot  he  had  gained  a  reput- 
ation for  astuteness  by  seldom  opening  his 
lips  and  never  shutting  his  ears.  He  was  there- 
fore a  most  valuable  book  of  reference,  which 
told  nothing  except  to  his  owner.  With  all  this 
he  was  a  great  rider  and  loved  hunting.  His 
Snrsiim  Corda  was  like  a  view-holloa,  and  when 
he  said,  Ite  missa  est,  you  would  have  sworn 
he   was    crying    a    stag's    death    instead    of  his 

28 


DOM    GALORS  ap 

Saviour's.  In  matters  of  gallantry  his  reputation 
was  risky  :  it  was  certain  that  he  had  more  than 
a  monk,  and  suspected  that  he  had  less  than  a 
gentleman  should  have.  The  women  of  Mal- 
bank  asseverated  that  venison  was  not  his  only 
game.  That  may  or  may  not  have  been.  The 
man  loved  power,  and  may  have  warred  against 
women  for  lack  of  something  more  difficult  of 
assault.  He  was  hardly  the  man  to  squander 
himself  at  the  bidding  of  mere  appetite ;  he  was 
certainly  no  glutton  for  anything  but  office. 
Still,  he  was  not  one  to  deny  himself  the  flutter 
of  the  caught  bird  in  the  hand.  He  had,  like 
most  men  who  make  themselves  monks  by  calcu- 
lation, a  keen  eye  for  a  girl's  shape,  carriage,  turn 
of  the  head,  and  other  sallies  of  the  game  she 
loves  and  always  loses  :  such  things  tickled  his 
fancy  when  they  came  over  his  path  ;  he  stooped 
to  take  them,  and  let  them  dangle  for  remem- 
brances, as  you  string  a  coin  on  your  chain  to 
remind  you  at  need  of  a  fortunate  voyage.  At 
this  particular  moment  he  was  tempted,  for 
instance,  to  catch  and  let  dangle.  The  chance 
light  of  some  shy  eye  had  touched  and  then 
eluded  him.  I  believe  he  loved  the  chase  more 
than  the  quarry.  He  knew  he  mustgoa-hunting 
from  that  moment  in  which  the  light  began  to 
play  will-o'-the-wisp ;  for  action  was  his  meat 
and  dominion  what  he  breathed.  If  you  wanted 
to  make  Galors  dangerous  you  had  to  set  him 
on  a  vanishing  trail.  The  girl  had  been  a  fool 
to  run,  but  how  was  she  to  know  that  ? 

To  him  now  spoke  the  Abbot  Richard  after 
this  fashion. 


30  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

"  Galors,"  he  said, "  I  will  speak  to  you  now  as 
to  my  very  selt^  for  if  you  are  not  myself  you  may 
be  where  I  sit  some  day.      A  young  monk  who  is 
almoner  already  may  go  far,  especially  when  he 
is  young  in  religion,  but  in  years  ripe.     If  you 
prove  to  be  my  other  self,  you  shall  go  as  far  as 
myself  can  push  you,  Galors.     Rest  assured  that 
the  road  need  not  stop  at  a  mitred  abbey.     In 
the  hope,  then,  that  you  may  go  further,  and  I 
with  you,  it  is  time  that  I   speak  my  full  mind. 
We  have  our  charter,  as  you  have  seen — and  at 
what  cost  of  sweat  and  urgency,  who  can  tell  so 
surely   as  I  ?     But    there,  we    have    it :  a  great 
weapon,    a   lever   whereby   we    may   raise    Holy 
Thorn  to  a  height  undreamed  of  by  tlie  abbots 
of  this  realm,  and  our  two  selves  (perched  on  the 
top  of  Holy  Thorn)  yet  higher.    Yet  this  charter, 
gotten  for  God's  greater  glory  (as  He  knoweth 
who  readeth  hearts !),  may  not  work  its  appointed 
way  without  an  application  which  poor  and  frail 
men  might  scarcely  dare  for  any  less  object.   There 
is  abroad,  Galors,  dear  brother,  a  most  malignant 
viper,  lurking,  as  I  may  say,  in  the  very  bosom  of 
Holy  Church ,  warmed   there,  nesting  there,  yet 
fouling  the  nest,  and  griding  her  tooth  that  she 
may  strike  at  the  heart  of  us,  and  shiver  what 
hath  been  so  long  a-building  up.     Of  that  viper 
you,  Galors,  are  the  chosen  instrument — you  and 
tlie  charter— to  draw  the  tooth." 

The  Abbot  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  was 
breathless;  it  was  not  hard  to  see  that  he  was 
uncommonly  in  earnest.  Galors  turned  over  in 
his  mind  all  possible  plots  against  an  Abbey's 
peaceful  being— tale-bearing  to  the  Archbishop,  a 


DOM   GALORS  31 

petition  for  a  Papal  Legate,  a  foreshore  trouble,  a 
riot  among  the  fishermen  of  Wanmouth,  some 
encroachment  by  the  ragged  brethren  of  Francis 
and  Dominic — and  dismissed  them  all  as  not 
serious  enough  to  lose  breath  about. 

"  Who  is  your  viper,  father  ?  "  was  what  he 
said. 

"  It  is  the  girl  Isoult  of  Matt-o'-the-Moor ; 
Isoult  whom  they  call  La  Desirous,"  replied  his 
spiritual  father. 

The  heart  of  Galors  gave  a  hot  jump  ;  he  knew 
the  girl  well  enough — too  well  for  her,  not  well 
enough  yet  for  himself  It  was  precisely  to  win 
the  woeful  beauty  of  her  that  he  had  set  his  snares 
and  unleashed  his  dogs.  Did  the  Abbot  know 
anything?  Impossible;  his  reference  forbad  the 
fear.  Was  the  girl  something  more  than  a  dark 
woodland  elf,  a  fairy,  haggard  and  dishevelled, 
whose  white  shape  shining  through  rags  had  made 
his  blood  stir  ?  The  mask  of  his  face  safeguarded 
him  through  this  maze  of  surmise ;  nothing  out 
of  the  depths  of  him  was  ever  let  to  ruffle  that 
dead  surface.  He  commanded  his  voice  to  ask, 
How  should  he  find  such  a  girl  ?  "  For,"  said 
he,  "  in  Malbank  girls  and  boys  swarm  like  flies 
on  a  sunny  wall."  The  deceit  implied  was  gross, 
yet  the  Abbot  took  it  in  his  haste. 

"  Thus  you  shall  know  her,  Galors,"  he  said. 
"A  slim  girl,  somewhat  under  the  common  size 
of  the  country,  and  overburdened  with  a  curtain 
of  black  hair ;  and  a  sullen,  brooding  girl  who 
says  little,  and  that  nakedly  and  askance ;  and  in 
a  pale  face  two  grey  eyes  a-burning." 

All  this  Galors  knew   better  than   his  Abbot. 


3a  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Now  he  asked,  "  But  what  is  her  offence,  father  ? 
For  even  with  power  of  hfe  and  member  the 
law  of  the  land  has  force,  that  neither  man 
nor  maid,  witch  nor  devil,  may  be  put  lightly- 
away." 

For  this  "  put  away  "  the  Abbot  thanked  him 
with  a  look,  and  added,  that  she  was  suspected 
of  witchcraft,  seeing  Maid  her  mother  was  a 
notorious  witch,  and  the  wench  herself  the  by- 
word and  scorn  of  all  the  country-side.  Sorcery, 
therefore,  or  incontinence — "  whichever  you  will," 
said  he.  "  Any  stick  will  do  to  beat  a  dog 
with." 

Galors  had  much  to  say,  but  said  nothing. 
There  was  something  behind  all  this,  he  was  sure, 
knowing  his  man  by  heart.  He  judged  the  Abbot 
to  be  bursting  with  news,  and  watched  him  pace 
the  parlour  now  struggling  with  it.  Sure  enough 
the  murder  was  out  before  he  had  taken  a  dozen 
turns.  "  Now,  Galors,"  he  said,  in  a  new  and 
short  vein,  "  listen  to  me.  I  intend  to  do  what  I 
should  have  done  fourteen  years  ago,  when  I  held 
this  girl  in  my  two  hands.  I  let  slip  my  chance, 
and  blame  myself  for  it ;  but  having  slipt  it 
indeed,  it  was  gone  until  this  charter  of  ours 
brought  it  back  fresh.  You  know  how  we 
stand  here,  you  and  I  and  the  Convent — all  of 
us  at  the  disposition  of  her  ladyship.  A  great 
lady,  my  friend,  and  a  young  one,  childless,  it  is 
said,  without  heir  of  her  own.  Morgraunt  may 
go  to  the  Crown,  or  Holy  Thorn  and  Gracedieu 
may  divide  it." 

*'  She  may  marry  again,"  put  in  Galors. 

"  She  is  twice  a  widow,"  the  Abbot  snapped 


DOM   GALORS  33 

him  up,  and  gave  his  first  shock.  "  She  is  twice 
a  widow,  once  against  her  will.  She  will  never 
marry  again." 

"  Then,  my  father,"  said  Galors,  ''  we  should 
be  safe  as  against  the  Crown,  which  the  Countess 
probably  loves  as  little  as  the  rest  of  her  kind." 

"  The  Countess  Isabel,"  said  the  Abbot,  speak- 
ing like  an  oracle,  "  is  not  childless." 

Galors  understood. 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me  in  this.  Brother 
Galors,"  said  the  Abbot.  "  We  will  do  the  girl 
no  unnecessary  harm.  We  will  slip  her  out  of 
the  country  if  we  can  get  any  one  to  take  her. 
Put  it  she  shall  be  married  or  hanged."  Galors 
again  thought  that  he  understood.  The  Abbot 
went  on.  "There  shall  be  no  burning,  though 
that  were  deserved ;  not  even  tumbril,  though 
that  were  little  harm  to  so  hot  a  piece.  There 
shall  be,  indeed,  that  which  the  Countess  believes 
to  have  been  already — a  sally  at  dawn  and  a  flit- 
ting. There  will  then  be  no  harm  done.  The 
tithing  will  be  free  of  a  sucking  witch,  and  the 
heart  of  our  benefactress  turned  from  the  child  of 
her  sin  (for  such  it  was  to  break  troth  to  the  earl, 
and  sin  she  deems  it)  to  the  child  of  her  spiritual 
adoption,  to  wit,  our  Holy  Thorn."  He  added — 
"  You  are  in  my  obedience,  Galors.  I  love  you 
much,  and  will  see  to  your  advancement.  You 
have  a  great  future.  But,  my  brother,  remember 
this.  Between  a  woman's  heart  and  her  conscience 
there  can  be  no  fight.  There  is,  rather,  a  triumph, 
wherein  the  most  glorious  of  the  victor's  spoils  is 
that  same  conscience,  shackled  and  haled  behind 
the  car.     That  you  should  know,  and  on  that  you 

D 


34  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

must  act.  Remember  you  are  fighting  for  Saint 
Giles  of  Holy  Thorn,  and  be  speedy  while  the 
new  tool  still  burns  in  your  hand." 

So  with  his  blessing  he  dismissed  Dom  Galors 
for  the  day. 


CHAPTER   V 

LA    DESIROUS 

Prosper  le  Gai — all  Morgraunt  before  him — 
rose  from  his  bed  before  the  Countess  had  turned 
in  hers;  and  long  before  the  Abbot  could  get 
alone  with  Dom  Galors  he  was  sighing  for  his 
breakfast.  He  had,  indeed,  seen  the  dawn  come 
in,  caught  the  first  shiver  of  the  trees,  the  first 
tentative  chirp  of  the  birds,  watched  the  slow 
filling  of  the  shadowy  pools  and  creeks  with  the 
grey  tide  of  light.  From  brake  to  brake  he 
struggled,  out  of  the  shade  into  the  dark,  thence 
into  what  seemed  a  broad  lake  of  daylight.  He 
met  no  living  thing;  or  ever  the  sun  kissed  the 
tree-tops  he  was  hungry.  He  was  well  within 
Morgraunt  now,  though  only,  as  it  might  be, 
upon  the  hem  of  its  green  robe ;  the  adventur- 
ous place  opened  slowly  to  him  like  some  great 
epic  whose  majesty  and  force  dawns  upon  you 
by  degrees  not  to  be  marked.  It  was  still  twi- 
light in  the  place  where  he  was  when  he  heard 
the  battling  of  birds'  wings,  the  screaming  of  one 
bird's  grief,  and  the  angry  purr  of  another,  or  of 
others.  He  peered  through  the  bush  as  the  sound 
swelled.  Presently  he  saw  a  white  bird  come 
fluttering  with  a  dropt  wing,  two  hen-harriers  in 

35 


36 


THE   FOREST   LOVERS 


close  pursuit.  They  were  over  her,  upon  her, 
there  was  a  wrangle  of  wings— brown  and  white 
—even  while  he  watched;  then  the  white  got 
clear  again,  and  he  could  see  that  she  bled  in  the 
breast.  The  sound  of  her  screaming,  which  was 
to  him  like  a  girl  crying,  moved  him  strangely. 
He  jumped  from  his  saddle,  ran  to  the  entangled 
birds  and  cuffed  the  two  hawks  off;  but 
seeing  that  they  came  on  again,  hunger-bold  no 
doubt,  he  strangled  them  and  freed  the  white 
pigeon.  He  took  her  up  in  his  hands  to  look  at 
her;  she  was  too  far  gone  for  fear;  she  bled 
freely,  but  he  judged  she  would  recover.  So  she 
did,  after  he  had  washed  out  the  wound ;  suffi- 
ciendy  at  least  to  hop  and  flutter  into  covert. 
Prosper  took  to  his  horse  and  journey  with  her 
voice  still  ringing  in  his  head. 

In  another  hour's  travel  he  reached  a  clearing 
in  the  wood,  hedged  all  about  with  yew-trees  and 
holm  oaks  very  old ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  saw 
a  little  stone  altar  with  the  figure  of  a  w^oman 
upon  it.  He  was  not  too  hungry  to  be  curious, 
so  he  dismounted  and  went  to  examine.  The 
saint  was  Saint  Lucy  the  Martyr,  he  saw;  the 
altar,  hoary  as  it  was  with  lichen  and  green  moss, 
had  a  slab  upon  it  well-polished,  with  crosses  let 
into  the  four  corners  and  into  the  middle  of  the 
stone;  there  were  sockets  for  tapers,  and  marks 
of  grease  new  and  thick.  Before  he  approached 
it  a  hind  and  her  calf  had  been  cropping  the 
grass  between  the  cracks  of  the  altar-steps ;  all 
else  was  very  still,  yet  had  a  feeling  of  habitancy 
and  familiar  use. 

His  instinct  when  he  saw  an  altar  being  to  say 


LA  DESIROUS  37 

his  prayers,  he  knelt  down  then  and  there,  facing 
the  image,  yet  a  little  remote  from  it.  A  very 
soft  tread  behind  him  broke  in  upon  his  exercises ; 
some  one  was  coming,  whence  or  how  he  did 
not  then  know.  The  comer  was  a  young  girl 
clothed  in  a  white  woollen  garment,  which  was 
bound  about  her  waist  with  a  green  cord ;  she 
was  bareheaded ;  on  her  feet  were  thick  sandals, 
bound  also  with  thongs  of  green.  Prosper 
watched  her  spread  a  white  cloth  upon  the  altar- 
slab,  and  set  a  Mass-book  upon  a  stand ;  he  saw 
her  go  and  return  with  two  lighted  tapers  for  the 
sockets,  he  saw  a  silver  crucifix  shine  between 
them.  The  girl,  when  all  this  business  was  done, 
stepped  backwards  down  the  steps,  and  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar  with  hands  clasped  upon  her 
bosom  and  head  bent  lowly.  "  By  the  Saints," 
thought  Prosper,  "Morgraunt  is  a  holy  place,  it 
seems.     There  is  to  be  a  Mass." 

So  it  was.  An  old  priest  came  out  of  the 
\hicket  in  a  vestment  of  yellow  and  gold  thread, 
bearing  in  his  hands  the  Sacrament  under  a  green 
silk  veil.  The  girl  knelt  down  as  he  passed  up 
the  steps ;  he  began  his  Mass,  but  in  so  low  a 
voice  that  it  hardly  touched  the  forest  peace. 

Rabbits  came  creeping  out  of  bush  and  bracken, 
a  wood-dove  began  her  moan,  two  or  three  deer 
stood  up.  Then  Prosper  thought — "  If  the  beasts 
come  to  prayers,  it  behoves  me  as  a  Christian 
man  to  hear  Mass  also.  Moreover,  it  were  fitting 
that  adventure  should  begin  in  that  manner,  to 
be  undertaken  in  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ."  He  went  forward  accordingly,  flush 
with  the  girl,  and  knelt  down  by  her.     When  it 


38 


THE   FOREST   LOVERS 


was  the  time  of  Communion,  both  drew  nearer 
and  received  Christ's  body.  Prosper,  for  his 
part,  did  not  forget  the  soul  of  the  dead  man,  De 
GenHs  or  another,  whose  body  he  had  buried  in 
Cadnam  Wood,  but  commended  it  to  God 
together  with  the  sacrifice  of  the  altar.  The 
woman  came  into  his  mind.  "No,  by  God," 
thought  he;  "she  is  the  devil,  or  of  him;  I 
will  never  pray  for  her,"  which  was  Prosper  all 
over. 

Mass  done,  he  remembered  that  he  had  the 
honour  to  be  uncommonly  hungry.  The  priest 
had  gone  back  into  the  wood,  the  girl  was  re- 
moving the  altar  furniture,  and  seemed  unconscious 
of  his  presence;^ but  Prosper  could  not  afford 
that. 

"  My  young  gentlewoman,"  he  said  with  a 
bow,  "  you  will  see  before  you,  if  you  turn  your 
head,  a  very  hungry  man." 

"  Are  you  hungry,  sir  ?  "  she  said,  looking  and 
smiling  at  him,  "  then  in  three  minutes  you  shall 
be  filled."  Whereupon  she  went  away  with  her 
load,  and  quickly  returned  with  another  more  to 
Prospcr's  mind.  She  gave  him  bread  and  hot 
milk  in  a  great  bowl,  she  gave  him  a  dishful  of 
wild  raspberries,  and  waited  on  him  herself  in  the 
prettiest  manner.  Without  word  said  she  watered 
his  horse  for  him ;  and  all  the  while  she  talked 
to  him,  but  of  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  birds 
and  beasts,  the  falling  of  the  leaf,  and  the  thousand 
little  haps  and  chances  of  her  quiet  life.  Prosper 
suited  his  conversation  to  her  book.  He  told 
her  of  the  white  bird's  rescue,  and  she  opened  her 
blue  eyes  in  wonder. 


LA   DESIROUS  39 

"Why,  I  dreamed  of  it  last  night,"  she  said 
very  solemnly. 

"  You  dreamed  of  it,  Alice  ? "  he  echoed.  She 
was  called,  she  had  told  him,  Alice  of  the 
Hermitage. 

"  Yes,  yes.  A  white  bird  and  two  hen-harriers. 
Ah,  and  there  was  more.  You  have  not  yet 
done  all.  You  have  not  yet  begun  !  "  She  was 
full  of  the  thing. 

"  By  my  faith,  I  have  wrung  the  necks  of  the 
pair  of  them,"  said  Prosper.  "  I  know  not  how 
they  can  expect  more  of  me  than  that." 

"  Listen,"  said  Alice  of  the  Hermitage,  "  the 
bird  will  be  again  chased,  again  wounded.  Mor- 
graunt  is  full  of  hawks.  You  will  see  her  again. 
My  dream  was  very  precise.  You  will  see  her 
again ;  but  this  time  the  chase  will  be  long,  and 
achievement  only  at  the  peril  of  your  own  honour. 
But  it  seems  that  you  shall  win  in  the  end  what 
you  have  thought  to  have  won  already,  and  the 
wound  in  the  breast  will  be  staunched." 

"Hum,"  said  Prosper.  "Now  you  shall  tell 
me  what  I  ought  to  do,  how  I  ought  to  begin. 
For  you  know  the  saw — '  The  sooner  begun,  the 
sooner  done.'  " 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cries  she,  "  you  shall  ride  forward 
in  the  name  of  God,  remembering  your  manhood 
and  the  vows  you  made  when  you  took  up  your 
arms."  She  blushed  as  she  spoke,  kindling  with 
her  thoughts. 

"  I  will  do  that,"  said  Prosper,  kindled  in  his 
turn.  And  so  he  left  her,  and  travelled  all  day 
towards  Malbank  Saint  Thorn.  He  lay  at  night 
in  the  open  wood,  not  far,  as  he  judged,  from 


40  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Spurnt  Heath,  upon  whose  westernmost  border 
ran  Wan ;  there,  or  near  by,  he  looked  to  find 
the  Abbey. 

He  spent  the  night  at  least  better  than  did 
Dom  Galors,  whose  thoughts  turned  equally  to 
Spurnt  Heath.  That  strenuous  man  had  taken 
the  Abbot's  counsel  to  bed  with  him,  a  restless 
partner.  An  inordinate  partner  also  it  proved  to 
be,  not  content  to  keep  the  monk  awake.  Turning 
every  traffic  of  his  mind  to  its  own  advantage,  it 
shook  out  the  bright  pinions  of  adventure  over 
the  dim  corridors  of  Holy  Thorn,  and  with  every 
pulse  of  the  ordering  bell  came  a  reiteration  of 
its  urgency.  All  night  long,  through  all  the  task 
work  of  the  next  morning,  the  thought  was  with 
him — "  By  means  of  this  woman  I  may  be  free. 
Free  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  may  be  set  up  on  high 
through  her.  Lord  of  this  land  and  patron  of  Holy 
Thorn  ;  a  maker  and  unmaker  of  abbots  to  whom 
now  I  must  bow  my  knees.  Is  it  nothing  to  be 
master  of  a  lovely  wife  ?  Ha,  is  it  nothing  to 
rule  a  broad  fee  ?  A  small  thing  to  have  abbots 
kiss  my  hands  ?  Lord  of  the  earth !  is  this  not 
worth  a  broken  vow,  which  in  any  case  I  have 
broken  before  ?  Oh,  Isoult  la  Desirous,  if  I 
desired  you  before  when  you  went  torn  and 
shamefaced  through  the  mire,  what  shall  I  say 
to  you  going  in  silk,  in  a  litter,  with  a  crown, 
Isoult  la  Desirce ! "  He  called  her  name  over 
and  over,  Isoult  la  Desirce,  la  Moult-Desiree,  and 
felt  his  head  spinning. 

Matins,  Lauds,  and  Prime,  he  endured  this 
obsession.  The  day's  round  was  filled  with  the 
amazing  image  of  a  crowned,  hollow-eyed,  tattered 


LA   DESIROUS  41 

little  drab,  the  mock  and  wonder  of  throngs  of 
witnesses,  appreciable  only  by  himself  as  a  pearl 
of  priceless  value.  The  heiress  of  Morgraunt, 
the  young  Countess  of  Hauterive,  La  Desirous, 
La  Desiree.  Desirable  she  had  been  before,  but 
dealing  no  smarter  scald  than  could  be  drowned 
in  the  well  of  love  which  for  him  she  might 
have  been  for  an  hour.  But  now  his  burn 
glowed ;  the  Abbot  had  blown  it  red.  Ambition 
was  alight;  he  was  the  brazier.  It  danced  in 
him  like  a  leaping  flame.  Certainly  Prosper 
slept  better   on  his  side  of  Spurnt  Heath. 

At  dusk  the  monk  could  bear  himself  and  his 
burden  of  knowledge  no  longer.  He  went  to 
look  for  Isoult  on  the  heath  in  a  known  haunt  of 
hers.  He  found  her  without  trouble,  sitting 
below  the  Abbot's  new  gallows.  She  was  a  young 
girl,  childishly  formed,  thin  as  a  haggard-hawk, 
with  a  white  resentful  face,  and  a  pair  of  startled 
eyes  which,  really  grey,  had  a  look  of  black  as 
the  pupil  swam  over  the  iris.  The  rags  which 
served  her  for  raiment  covered  her  but  ill;  her 
legs  were  bare,  she  was  without  head-covering ; 
all  about  her  face  her  black  hair  fell  in  shrouds. 
She  sat  quite  still  where  she  was,  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees,  and  chin  between  her  two  hands, 
gazing  before  her  over  the  heath.  Above  her 
head  two  thieves,  first-fruits  of  the  famous 
charter,  creaked  as  they  swung  in  their  chains. 
If  Isoult  saw  Galors  coming,  she  made  no  effort 
to  escape  him ;  when  her  eyes  met  his  her 
brooding  stare   held   its  spell. 

The  monk  drew  near,  stood  before  her,  and 
said — "  Isoult  la  Desirous,  you  shall  come  with 


4-2  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

me  into  the  quarry,  for  I  have  much  to  say  to 
you." 

"Let  it  be  said  here,"  she  rephed,  without 
moving. 

But  he  answered — "  Nay,  you  shall  come  with 
me  into  the  quarry." 

"I  am  dead  tired.  Can  you  not  let  me  be, 
Dom  Galors  ?  " 

.  "  I  have  what  will  freshen  you,  Isoult.     Come 
with  me." 

"  If  I  must,  I  must," 

Then  he  led  her  away,  and  she  went  tamely 
enough  to  the  quarry. 

There  he  took  her  by  both  her  hands,  and  so 
held  her,  waiting  till  she  should  be  forced  to  look 
up  at  him.  When  at  last,  sick  and  sullen,  she 
raised  her  eyes,  he  could  hardly  contain  himself. 
But  he  did. 

"What  were  you  doing  by  the  Abbot's  new 
gallows,  Isoult  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  be  there  now  than  here.  The 
company  is  more  to  my  liking." 

"  You  may  be  near  enough  by  to-morrow,  if 
what  I  have  learned  be  true." 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  larger  and  darker.  "  Are 
they  going  to  hang  me  ? "  she  asked. 

**  Are  you  not  a  witch  ? " 

"  It  is  said." 

"  Your  mother  Maid  is  a  witch — ^eh  ?  " 

"Yes,  she  is  a  witch." 

"  And  are  not  you  ?    You  know  Deerleap — eh  ? " 

"  It  is  said  that  I  do." 

"And  you  know  what  must  be  done  to 
witches." 


LA   DESIROUS  43 

"They  will  hang  me,  Dom  Galors!  Will  they 
hang  me  by  Cutlaw  and  Rogerson  ? " 

"There  is  room  for  you  there." 

"  What  can  they  prove  ? " 

"  Pshaw  I  Is  proof  needed  ?  Are  you  not  a 
baggage  ? " 

"  I  know  not." 

"  A  wanton  ? " 

"  Ah,  you  should  know  that !  " 

"  If  it  depended  upon  me,  Isoult,  I  could  save 
you.  But  the  Abbot  means  to  make  an  example 
and  set  a  terror  up  before  the  evil-doers  in  this 
walk  of  Morgraunt.  What  am  I  before  the 
Abbot,  or  what  is  my  love  for  you  to  be  brought 
to  his  ears?  It  is  doom  more  certain  still,  my 
dear." 

"Then  I  shall  be  hanged." 

"Listen  to  me  now,  Isoult.  Listen  close. 
No,  leave  your  hands  where  they  are ;  they  are 
safer  there  than  elsewhere.  So  leave  them  and 
listen  close.  No  soul  in  Malbank  but  myself 
and  the  Lord  Abbot  knows  of  what  I  have  told 
you  now.  Me  he  told  this  morning.  Judge  if 
that  was  good  news  for  your  lover's  ear ! " 

Isoult  shivered  and  hung  her  head.  Galors 
went  on — "At  the  risk  of  everything  a  monk 
should  fear,  and  of  everything,  by  God,  that 
such  a  monk  as  I  am  should  care  to  win,  I  con- 
tended with  my  spiritual  father.  Spare  me  the 
particulars ;  I  got  some  shrewd  knocks  over  it, 
but  I  did  win  this  much.  You  are  to  be  hanged 
to-morrow,  Isoult,  or  noosed  in  another  way.  A 
ring  is  to  play  a  part.  You  shall  be  bride  of  the 
tree  or  a  man's  bride.     I  won  this,  and  left  the 


44  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Abbot  chuckling,  for  much  as  he  knows  he  has 
not  guessed  that  the  goose-girl,  the  tossed-out 
kitchen-girl,  the  scarecrow  haunter  of  the  heath, 
should  be  sought  in  marriage.  But  I  knew 
more  than  he ;  and  now,"  he  said,  stooping  over 
the  bent  girl, — "  and  now,  Isoult  la  Desirous, 
come  with  me  !  " 

He  tried  to  draw  her  towards  him,  but  she 
trembled  in  his  hands  so  much  that  he  had  to 
give  over.  He  began  his  arguments  again, 
reasoned,  entreated,  threatened,  cajoled ;  he  could 
not  contain  himself  now,  being  so  near  fruition. 
The  spell  of  the  forest  was  upon  him.  "Let 
Love  be  the  master,"  he  said,  "  for  there  is  no 
gainsaying  him,  nor  can  cloister  walls  bar  his 
way;  but  his  flamy  wings  top  even  these.  Ah, 
Isoult ! "  he  cried  out  in  his  passion ;  "  ah, 
Isoult  la  Desiree,  come,  lest  I  die  of  love  and 
you  of  the  tree." 

The  girl,  who  feared  him  much  more  than 
the  death  he  had  declared,  was  white  now  and 
desperate.  But  she  still  held  him  off  with  her 
stiffened  arms  and  face  averted.  She  tried  to 
cheapen  herself.  "  I  am  Matt's  bad  daughter, 
I  am  Matt's  bad  daughter!  All  the  tithing 
holds  me  in  scorn.  Never  speak  of  love  to  such 
as  I  am,  Galors."  And  when  he  tried  to  pull 
her  she  made  herself  rigid  as  a  rod,  and  would 
not  go. 

So  love  made  the  man  mad,  and  spread  and 
possessed  him.  Contest  goaded  Galors :  action 
was  his  meat  and  dominion  what  he  breathed ; 
by  resisting  she  had  made  the  end  more  sure. 
By   her  imprisoned  wrists  he  drew  her  in,  and 


LA  DESIROUS  45 

when  she  was  so  close  that  her  head  w^as  almost 
upon  his  breast,  he  breathed  over  her.  "A 
mitred  abbey  have  I  trampled  down  for  your 
love ;  yes,  and  to  be  bishop  of  a  see.  Therefore 
you  must  come." 

She  fell  to  whining  and  entreaty,  white  to  the 
lips  and  dry  with  fear.  All  that  she  could  say 
was,  "  I  am  bad,  I  am  bad,  but  not  so  bad ! 
Never  ruin  me,  Dom  Galors."  Then  it  was 
that  she  heard  the  voice  of  Prosper  singing  afar 
off  on  the  heath. 

Prosper  sang — 

"  What  if  my  metal 
Be  proved  as  high  as  a  hawk's  in  good  fettle ! 

Then  you  shall  see 

The  world  my  fee, 
And  the  hearts  of  men  for  my  Seigniory." 

And  the  girl  thought  to  herself,  "Help 
Cometh ! "  and  changed  the  voice  of  her  grief 
and  the  beating  of  her  heart.  By  this  the  guile 
a  woman  has  always  by  her  tongue  had  play : 
she  could  talk  more  gently  to  her  gaoler,  and  beg 
a  little  time — a  short  hour  or  so — to  plan  and 
arrange  their  affairs.  He  thought  her  won  and 
grew  very  tender;  he  kissed  her  hands  many 
times,  called  her  his  dear  heart,  became,  in  a 
word,  the  clumsy  gallant  he  claimed  to  be.  All 
this  too  she  endured :  she  began  to  gabble  at 
random,  sprightly  as  a  minion,  with  all  the  shifts 
of  a  girl  in  a  strait  place  ready  at  command. 
Her  fear  was  double  now:  she  must  learn  the 
trend  of  the  singer  and  his  horse,  and  prevent 
Galors  from  hearing  either.  This  much  she  did. 
The  sound   came    steadily   on.     She   heard    the 


46  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

horse's  hoofs  strike  on  a  flint  outside  the  quarry, 
she  heard  Prosper  singing  softly  to  himself. 
Her  time  had  come.  She  sprang  at  arm's-length 
from  Galors  and  called  out,  "  Help,  for  charity !  " 
with  all  her  might. 

Prosper  started,  drew  his  sword,  and  headed 
his  horse  for  the  quarry.  In  the  mouth  of  it  he 
reined  up  to  look  about  him.  He  was  sure  of 
his  direction,  but  not  of  his  way.  "Help  is 
here ! "  he  cried  with  his  sword  on  high  and 
red  plumes  nodding.  Air  and  the  light  of  the 
sun  seemed  to  follow  him,  as  if  he  had  cut  a 
slit  in  a  shroud  and  let  in  the  day.  Then  it  was 
that  Isoult  found  strength  to  shake  free  from 
her  enemy,  to  run  to  Prosper,  to  clasp  his  knee, 
to  babble  broken  words,  entreaties  for  salvation, 
and  to  stoop  to  his  foot  and  kiss  it. 

"What  is  all  this  about,  my  child?"  asked 
Prosper  wondering. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "  my  lord !  the  monk 
seeks  to  do  me  a  wrong,  and  a  shame  greater 
than  all ! " 

Prosper  looked  deeper  into  the  quarry.  There 
he  saw  Galors,  the  white  monk,  who  stood  fixed, 
biting  his  nails  keenly  there.  Then  he  laughed, 
saying,  "  I  cannot  fight  a  monk,"  and  sheathed 
his  sword.  He  did  not  love  monks,  none  of  his 
house  did.  He  had  seen  the  new  gallows,  could 
measure  the  build  of  the  fellow  in  the  quarry ; 
and  though  he  could  not  plumb  the  girl's  soul 
through  her  misty  eyes,  he  could  read  her  shak- 
ing lips  and  clinging  hands ;  he  could  sec,  and 
be  shocked  to  see,  how  young  she  was  to  be 
acquainted   with  grief,   and  with  sin  how    likely 


LA   DESIROUS  47 

familiar.  The  hint  of  the  thing  revolted  him ; 
he  dared  not  leave  her  there. 

"  See  here,  child,"  said  he,  "  I  will  set  you 
before  me,  and  we  will  ride  together  for  a  while. 
Perhaps  the  evening  chills  will  temper  the  monk ; 
but  if  not,  I  am  to  lodge  at  his  abbey  this  night, 
and  may  prepare  that  for  him  which  will  cool 
him.     Will  you  come  up  to  me  ?  " 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  hovered  over  her  white 
drawn  face  for  a  minute.  "  I  will  go  where  you 
will  take  me,  my  lord,"  said  she. 

"  Come  up  with  you  then,"  he  replied.  He 
stooped  there  and  then,  took  her  below  the  arms, 
and  lightly  swung  her  into  the  saddle  before  him. 
There  she  sat,  modern  fashion,  with  his  sword 
arm  for  her  stay.  "  I  should  like  to  read  that 
hulk  a  lesson,"  said  her  protector  wistfully,  "  but 
I  doubt  he  will  have  it  before  night.  Oh,  let 
him  hang !  "  So  he  turned  and  rode  out  of  the 
quarry  on  to  the  heath. 

Galors  stood  a  long  time  in  the  place  where 
they  left  him,  drawing  blood  from  his  bitten 
fingers.  Darkness  gathered  fast  with  a  storm  of 
wind  and  rain.  Nevertheless  he  stayed  on ;  and 
night  came  down  to  find  him  still  there. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    VIRGIN    MARRIAGE 

He  had  to  talk,  and  as  the  girl  gave  him  no 
help,  Prosper  found  himself  asking  questions  and 
puzzling  out  the  answers  he  got,  trying  to  make 
them  fit  with  the  facts.  He  was  amazed  that  one 
so  delicately  formed  should  go  barefooted  and 
bareheaded,  clad  in  torn  rags.  To  all  his  questions 
she  replied  m  a  voice  low  and  tremulous,  and  very 
simply — that  is  to  say,  to  such  of  them  as  she 
would  answer  at  all.  To  many — to  all  which 
touched  upon  Galors  and  his  business  with  her  in 
the  quarry — she  was  as  dumb  as  a  fish.  Prosper 
was  as  patient  as  you  could  expect. 

He  asked  her  who  she  was,  and  how  called. 
She  told  him — "  I  am  Matt-of-the-Moor's  child, 
and  men  call  me  Isoult  la  Desirous." 

"That  is  a  strange  name,"  said  he.  "How 
came  you  by  such  a  name  as  that  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Isoult,  '*  I  have  never  had  any 
otlier ;  and  I  suppose  that  I  have  it  because  I  am 
unhappy,  and  not  at  peace  with  those  who  seek 
me. 

"  Who  seeks  you,  Isoult  ?  " 

To  that  she  gave  no  reply.    So  Prosper  went  on. 

*'  If  many  sought  you,  child,"  he  said,  "  you 

4S 


THE   VIRGIN   MARRIAGE 


49 


were  rightly  called  Isoult  la  Desiree,  but  if  you, 
on  the  other  hand,  sought  something  or  some- 
body, then  you  were  Isoult  la  Desirous.  Is  it  not 
so  1 

"  My  lord,"  said  Isoult,  "  the  last  is  my 
name." 

"  Then  it  must  be  that  you  too  seek  some- 
thing. What  is  it  that  you  seek,  that  all  the 
tithing  knows  of  it?" 

But  she  hung  her  head  and  had  nothing  to 
say. 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  Galors,  to  her  visible 
disease.  When  he  asked  what  the  monk  wanted 
with  her,  he  felt  her  tremble  on  his  arm.  She 
began  to  cry,  suddenly  turned  her  face  into  his 
shoulder,  and  kept  it  there  while  her  sobs  shook 
through  her. 

"Well,  child,"  said  he,  "dry  your  tears,  and 
turn  your  face  to  such  light  as  there  is,  being- 
well  assured  of  this,  that  whatever  he  asked  of 
you  he  did  not  get,  and  that  he  will  ask  no 
more." 

"  I  fear  him,  I  fear  him,"  she  said  very  low — 
and  again,  "  I  fear  him,  I  fear  him." 

"  Drat  the  monk,"  said  Prosper,  laughing,  "  is 
he  to  cut  me  out  of  a  compliment  ?  " 

Whereupon  she  turned  a  very  woebegone  and 
tearful  face  up  to  his.  He  looked  smilingly 
down ;  a  sudden  wave  of  half-humorous  pity  for 
a  thing  so  frail  and  amazed  swam  about  him ; 
before  he  knew  he  had  kissed  her  cheek.  This 
set  her  blushing  a  little  ;  but  she  seemed  to  take 
heart,  smiled  rather  pitifully,  and  turned  again 
with  a  sigh,  like  a  baby's  for  sleep. 


50  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

The  night  gathered  apace  with  a  chill  wind  ; 
some  fine  rain  began  to  fall,  then  heavy  drops. 
Gradually  the  wind  increased,  and  the  rain  with 
it.  "  Now  we  shall  have  it,"  said  Prosper,  sniffing 
for  the  storm.  He  covered  Isoult  with  his  cloak, 
folded  it  about  her  as  best  he  could,  and  tucked 
it  in ;  she  lay  in  his  arm  snug  enough,  and  slept 
while  he  urged  his  horse  over  the  stubbed  heath. 
The  water  hissed  and  ran  over  the  baked  earth  ; 
where  had  been  dry  channels,  rents  and  scars  full 
of  dust,  were  now  singing  torrents  and  broad  pools 
fetlock-deep.  Prosper  let  his  good  beast  go  his 
own  gait,  which  was  a  sober  trot,  and  ever  and 
again  as  he  heard  the  ripple  of  running  water  and 
the  swirl  and  suck  of  the  eddies  in  it,  he  judged 
that  he  must  soon  or  late  touch  the  Wan  river, 
whereon  stood  the  Abbey  and  his  bed.  What  to 
do  with  the  girl  when  he  got  there?  That  puzzled 
him.  "  A  well-ordered  abbey,"  he  thought,  "  has 
no  place  for  a  girl,  and  one  ill-ordered  has  too 
many.  In  the  first  case,  therefore.  Holy  Thorn 
would  leave  her  at  the  gate,  and  in  the  second, 
that  is  where  I  myself  would  let  her  stay.  So  it 
seems  that  she  must  needs  have  a  wet  skin."  He 
felt  carefully  about  the  sleeping  child  ;  the  cloak 
kept  her  dry  and  warm  as  a  toast.  She  was  sound 
asleep.  "  Good  Lord  !  "  cried  Prosper, "  it's  a  pity 
to  disturb  this  baby  of  mine.  Saracen  and  I  had 
better  souse.  Moreover,  I  make  no  nearer,  by  all 
that  appears,  to  river  Wan  or  Holy  Thorn.  Come 
up,  horse ;  keep  us  moving." 

The  stream  he  had  followed  he  now  had  lost. 
It  was  pitchy  dark,  with  a  most  villainous  storm 
of  rain  and  wind.    Saracen  caught  the  infection  of 


THE  VIRGIN   MARRIAGE  51 

his  master's  doubts ;  he  stopped  short,  and  bowed 
his  head  to  snufF  the  ground.  Prosper  laughed 
at  the  plight  they  were  both  in,  and  looked  about 
him,  considering  what  he  should  do.  Very  far 
off  he  could  see  a  feeble  light  flickering ;  it  was 
the  only  speck  of  brightness  within  his  vision, 
and  he  judged  it  too  steady  for  a  fen-flame. 
Lodging  of  some  sort  should  be  there,  for  where 
there  is  a  candle  there  is  a  candlestick.  This 
was  not  firelight.  To  it  he  turned  his  tired 
beast,  and  found  that  he  had  been  well  advised. 
He  was  before  a  mud-walled  hovel ;  there  through 
the  horn  he  saw  the  candle-flame.  He  drew  his 
sword  and  beat  upon  the  door.  For  answer  the 
light  was  blown  swiftly  out,  and  the  darkness  swam 
about  him  like  ink. 

"  Scared  folk !  "  he  laughed  to  himself,  hammer- 
ing at  the  door  with  a  will. 

Then  Isoult  stirred  on  his  arm  and  awoke  with 
a  little  whimper,  half  dreaming  still,  and  not  know- 
ing where  she  was.  She  sat  up  in  the  saddle  dazed 
with  sleep. 

"  The  night  is  wild,"  said  Prosper, "  and  I  have 
found  us  the  shadow  of  a  shade,  but  as  yet  we  lack 
the  substance."  Then  he  set-to,  pounding  at  the 
door  again,  and  crying  to  those  within  to  open  for 
the  sake  of  all  the  saints  he  could  remember. 

Isoult  freed  herself  from  the  cloak,  and  slid 
down  from  her  seat  in  the  saddle.  Putting  her 
face  close  to  the  door  she  whistled  a  low  note. 
The  candle  was  re-lit,  many  bolts  were  withdrawn  ; 
finally  the  door  opened  a  little  way,  and  an  old 
man  put  his  head  through  the  chink,  staring  out 
into  the  dark. 


5a  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  God's  life,  you  little  rip,"  said  the  anxious 
rogue,  "  you  gave  us  a  turn  !  " 

Isoult  spoke  eagerly  and  fast,  but  too  low  for 
Prosper  to  hear  what  she  said.  The  man  was  in 
no  mind  to  open  further,  and  the  more  he  speered 
at  the  horseman  the  less  he  seemed  to  like  it. 
Nevertheless,  after  a  time  the  girl  was  let  into  the 
hut,  and  the  door  slammed  and  bolted  as  before. 
Between  the  shocks  of  the  storm  Prosper  could 
now  hear  a  confusion  of  voices — Isoult's,  low, 
even,  clear  and  quick ;  the  grating  comments  of 
the  old  rogue  who  kept  the  door,  and  another 
voice  that  trembled  and  wailed  as  if  passion 
struggled  with  the  age  in  it,  to  see  which  should 
be  master.  Once  he  thought  to  catch  a  fourth 
— a  brisk  man's  voice,  with  laughter  and  some 
sort  of  authority  in  it,  which  seemed  familiar; 
but  he  could  not  be  sure  about  this.  In  the 
main  three  persons  held  the  debate. 

After  a  long  wrangle  it  seemed  that  the  women 
were  to  have  their  way.  Again  the  door-bolts 
were  drawn,  again  the  door  opened  by  the  old 
man,  and  this  time  opened  wide.  With  bows 
lower  than  the  occasion  demanded,  Prosper  was 
invited  to  be  pleased  to  enter.  He  saw  to  his 
horse  first,  and  made  what  provision  he  could  for 
him  in  an  out-house.  Then  he  stooped  his  head 
and  entered  the  cottage. 

He  came  directly  into  a  bare  room,  which  was, 
you  may  say,  crouched  under  a  pent  of  turves  and 
ling,  and  stank  very  vilely.  The  floor  was  of 
beaten  clay,  like  the  walls ;  for  furniture  it  had  a 
table  and  bench.  Sooty  cobwebs  dripped  from 
the  joists,  and   ^reat   spiders    ran    nimbly   over 


THE   VIRGIN   MARRIAGE  53 

them ;  there  were  no  beds,  but  on  a  heap  of 
rotting  skins  in  one  corner  two  rats  were  busy, 
and  in  another  were  some  dry  leaves  and  bracken. 
There  was  no  chimney  either,  though  there  was  a 
peat  fire  smouldering  in  what  you  must  call  the 
hearth.  The  place  was  dense  with  the  fog  of  it ; 
it  was  some  time,  therefore,  before  Prosper  could 
leave  blinking  and  fit  his  eyes  to  see  the  occupants 
of  his  lodging.  .   .  . 

Isoult,  he  saw,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
leaning  on  the  table  with  both  her  hands;  her 
head  was  hanging,  and  her  hair  veiled  all  her  face. 
Near  her,also  standing,  was  the  old  man — a  sturdy 
knowing  old  villain,  with  a  world  of  cunning  and 
mischief  in  his  pair  of  pig's  eyes.  His  scanty 
hair,  his  beard,  were  white;  his  eyebrows  were 
white  and  altogether  monstrous.  He  blinked  at 
Prosper,  but  said  nothing.  The  third  was  a 
woman,  infinitely  old  as  it  seemed,  crouched  over 
the  fired  peats  with  her  back  to  the  room.  She 
never  looked  up  at  all,  but  muttered  and  sighed 
vainly  to  herself  and  warmed  her  hands.  Lastly, 
in  a  round-backed  chair,  cross-legged,  twirling  his 
thumbs,  twinkling  with  comfortable  repletion,  sat 
Prosper's  friend  of  the  road,  Brother  Bonaccord  of 
Lucca. 

"  God  save  you,  gentleman,"  he  chirped.  "  I 
see  we  have  the  same  taste  in  lodgings.  None  of 
your  Holy  Thorns  for  us — hey  ?  But  a  shake- 
down under  a  snug  thatch,  with  a  tap  of  red  wine 
such  as  I  have  not  had  out  of  my  own  country. 
What  a  port  for  what  a  night — hey  ?  " 

Prosper  nodded  back  a  greeting  as  he  looked 
from  one  to  another  of  these  ill-assorted  hosts  of 


54  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

his,  and  whenever  he  chanced  on  the  motionless 
girl  he  felt  that  he  could  not  understand  it.  Look 
at  her !  how  sweet  and  delicate  she  was,  how  small 
and  well-set  her  head,  her  feet  and  hands  how  fine, 
her  shape  how  tender.  "  How  should  a  lily  spring 
in  so  foul  a  bed  ?  "  thought  he  to  himself.  Mor- 
graunt  had  already  taught  him  an  odd  thing  or 
two  ;  no  doubt  it  was  Morgraunt's  way. 

The  old  man  set  bread  and  onions  on  the  table, 
with  some  sour  red  wine  in  a  jug.  ''Sit  and  eat, 
my  lord,  while  you  may,"  he  said. 

So  Prosper  and  Isoult  sat  upon  the  bench  and 
made  the  most  of  it,  and  he,  being  a  cheerful 
soul,  talked  and  joked  with  Brother  Bonaccord. 
Isoult  never  raised  her  eyes  once,  nor  spoke  a 
word;  as  for  the  numbed  old  soul  by  the  fire, 
she  kept  her  back  resolutely  on  the  room,  mut- 
tered her  charms  and  despair,  and  warmed  her 
dry  hands  as  before. 

When  they  had  eaten  what  they  could  there 
came  a  change.  The  friar  ceased  talking ;  the 
old  man  faced  Prosper  with  a  queer  look.  "  Sir, 
have  you  well-eaten  and  drunken  ?  "  he  asked. 

Prosper  thanked  him  ;  he  had  done  excellently. 

"  Well  now,"  said  the  man,  "  as  I  have  heard, 
after  the  bride-feast  comes  the  bridal.  Will  your 
worship  rest  with  the  bride  brought  home  ?  " 

Prosper  got  up  in  an  awkward  pause.  He 
looked  at  the  man  as  if  he  were  possessed  of  the 
devil.  Then  he  laughed,  saying,  "  Are  you  merry, 
old  rogue  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sir,"  said  the  ancient,  "  it  is  no  jest.  If 
she  mate  not  this  night — and  it's  marriage  for 
choice  with  this  holy  man — come  sunrise  she'll  be 


THE   VIRGIN   MARRIAGE 


55 


hanged  on  the  Abbot's  new  gallows.  For  she  is 
suspected  of  witchcraft  and  many  abominations." 

"  Is  she  your  daughter,  you  dog,  and  do  you 
speak  thus  of  your  daughter  ?  "  cried  Prosper  in  a 
fury. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  man,  "  who  would  own  himself 
father  to  a  witch?  Nevertheless  she  is  my 
daughter  indeed." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  Would 
you  have  me  marry  a  witch,  old  fool  ?  "  Prosper 
shouted  at  him.     The  man  shrugged. 

"  Nay,  sir,  but  I  said  it  was  marriage  for 
choice — seeing  the  friar  was  to  hand.  We  know 
their  way,  to  marry  as  soon  as  look  at  you. 
But  it's  as  you  will,  so  you  get  a  title  to  her,  to 
take  her  out  of  the  country." 

Prosper  turned  to  look  at  Isoult.  He  saw 
her  standing  before  the  board,  her  head  hung 
and  her  two  hands  clasped  together.  Her 
breathing  was  troubled  —  that  also  he  saw. 
"  God's  grace  1  "  thought  he  to  himself,  "  is  she 
so  fair  without  and  within  so  rotten  ?  Who  has 
been  ill-ordering  the  world  to  this  pass  ?  "  He 
watched  her  thoughtfully  for  some  time  ;  then 
he  turned  to  her  father. 

"  See  now,  eld  scamp,"  he  said,  "  I  have  sworn 
an  oath  to  high  God  to  succour  the  weak,  to 
right  wrong,  and  to  serve  ladies.  Nine  times 
under  the  moon  1  sware  it,  watching  my  arms 
before  the  cross  on  Starning  Waste.  Judge 
you,  therefore,  whether  I  intend  to  keep  it  or  not. 
As  for  your  daughter,  she  can  tell  you  whether 
some  part  of  it  I  have  not  kept  even  now.  But 
understand  me,  that   I   do  not  marry  on   com- 


56  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

pulsion  or  where  love  is  not.     For  that  were  a 
sin  done  toward  God,  and  me,  and  a  maid." 

The  old  rascal  blinked  his  eyes,  jerking  his 
head  many  times  at  the  shameful  girl.  Then  he 
said,  "  Love  is  there  fast  and  sure.  She  is  all 
for  loving.  They  call  her  Isoult  la  Desirous, 
you  must  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Prosper,  "  I  do  know  it,  for  she 
has   told   me  so  already." 

"  And  to-morrow  she  will  desire  no  more, 
since  she  will  be  hanged,"  said  Matt-o'-the-Moor. 

Prosper  started  and  flushed,  and — 

"  That  is  a  true  gospel,  brother,"  put  in  the  friar. 
"  The  Abbot  means  to  air  his  gallows  at  her  ex- 
pense; but  there  is  worse  than  a  gallows  to  it. 
What  did  I  tell:  you  of  the  Black  Monks  when 
you  called  'em  White  ?  There  is  a  coal-black 
among  them  who'll  have  her  if  the  gallows  have 
her  not.     It  is  Galors  or  gallows,  fast  and  sure." 

Prosper  rubbed  his  chin,  looked  at  the  friar, 
looked  at  Matt,  looked  at  Isoult.  She  neither 
lifted  head  nor  eyes,  though  the  others  had  met 
him  sturdily  enough.  She  stood  Hke  a  saint  on 
a  church  porch  ;  he  thought  her  a  desperate 
Magdalen. 

"  Isoult,  come  here,"  said  he.  She  came  as 
obediently  as  you  please,  and  stood  before  him  ; 
but  she  would  not  look  up  until  he  said  again, 
"  Isoult,  look  me  in  the  face."  Then  she  did  as 
she  was  told,  and  her  eyes  were  unwinking  and 
very  wide  open,  full  of  dark.  She  parted  her 
lips  and  sighed  a  little,  shivering  somewhat.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  she  had  been  with  the  dead 
already  and  seen  their  kingdom.     Prosper  said, 


THE   VIRGIN    MARRIAGE 


57 


"  Isoult,  is  this  true  that  thou  wilt  be  hanged  to- 
morrow ? " 

"  Yes,  lord,"  said  Isoult  in  a  whisper. 

"  Or  worse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lord,"  she  said  again,  quivering. 

"  Save  only  thy  lot  be  a  marriage  this  night  ? " 

"  Yes,  lord,"  she  said  a  third  time.    So  he  asked, 

"Art  thou  verily  what  this  old  man  thy 
father  hath  testified  against  thee — a  witch,  a 
worker  of  iniquity  and  black  things,  and  of 
abominations  with  the  devil  ? " 

Isoult  said  in  a  very  still  voice — "  Men  say 
that  I  am  all  this,  my  lord." 

But  Prosper  with  a  cry  called  out,  "  Isoult, 
Isoult,  now  tell  me  the  truth.  Dost  thou  deserve 
this  death  ?  " 

She  sighed,  and  smiled  rather  pitifully  as  she 
said — 

"  I  cannot  tell,  lord ;  but  I  desire  it." 

"  Dost  thou  desire  death,  child? "  cried  he, "  and 
is  this  why  thou  art  called  La  Desirous  ? " 

"  I  desire  to  be  what  I  am  not,  my  lord,  and 
to  have  that  which  I  have  never  had,"  she  answered, 
and  her  lip  trembled, 

"  And  what  is  that  which  you  are  not,  Isoult  ?  " 

She  answered  him  "  Clean." 

''  And  what  is  that  which  you  have  never  had, 
my  child  ?  " 

"  Peace,"  said  Isoult,  and  wept  bitterly. 

Then  Prosper  crossed  himself  very  devoutly, 
and  covered  his  face  while  he  prayed  to  his  saint. 
When  he  had  done  he  said,  "  Cease  crying, 
Isoult,  and  tell  me  the  truth,  by  God  and  His 
Christ,  and  Saint  Mary,  and  by  the  face  of  the 


^8  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

sky.  Art  thou  such  a  one  as  I  would  wed  if  love 
were  to  grow  between  me  and  thee,  or  art  thou 
other  ? " 

She  ceased  her  crying  at  this  and  looked  him 
full  in  the  face,  deadly  pale.  "  What  is  the  truth 
to  you  concerning  me  ?  "  she  said. 

He  answered  her,  "The  truth  is  everything, 
for  without  it  nothing  can  have  good  beginning 
or  good  ending." 

This  made  her  meek  again  and  her  eyes  misty. 
She  held  out  a  hand  to  him,  saying,  "  Come 
into  the  night,  and  I  will  tell  my  lord." 

He  took  it.  Hand-in-hand  they  went  out 
of  the  cottage,  and  hand-in-hand  stood  together 
alone  under  the  sky.  It  was  still  black  and 
heavy  weather,  but  without  rain.  Isoult  dropped 
his  hand  and  stood  before  him.  She  shut  her 
arms  over  her  breast  so  that  her  two  wrists  crossed 
at  her  throat.  Looking  full  at  him  from  under 
her  brows  she  said — 

"  By  God  and  His  Christ,  and  Saint  Mary,  and 
by  the  face  of  the  sky,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth, 
lord.  If  the  witch's  wax  be  not  as  abominable 
as  the  witch,  or  the  vessel  not  foul  that  hath  held 
a  foul  '.iquor,  then  thou  couldst  never  point  scorn 
at  me." 

"  Speak  openly  to  me,  my  child,"  said  Prosper, 
"  and  fear  nothing." 

So  she  said,  "  I  will  speak  openly.  I  am  no 
witch,  albeit  I  have  seen  witchcraft  and  the 
revelry  of  witches  on  Deerleap.  And  though  I 
have  seen  evil  also  I  am  a  maiden,  my  lord,  and 
such  as  you  would  have  your  own  sister  to  be 
before  she  were  wed." 


THE  VIRGIN   MARRIAGE  59 

But  Prosper  put  her  from  him  at  an  arm's- 
length.     He  was  not  yet  satisfied. 

"  What  was  thy  meaning  then,"  he  asked,  "  to 
say  that  thou  wouldst  be  that  which  thou  wert 
not  ? "  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  use  the 
word  which  she  had  used ;  but  she  used  it 
again. 

"  Ah,  clean !  "  she  said  with  a  weary  gesture. 
"  Lord,  how  shall  I  be  clean  in  this  place  ? 
Or  how  shall  I  be  clean  when  all  say  that  I 
am  unclean,  and  so  use  towards  me  ? "  She 
began  to  cry  again,  quite  silently.  Prosper 
could  hear  the  drips  fall  from  her  cheeks  to  her 
breast,  but  no  other  sound.  She  began  to  moan 
in  her  trouble — "  Ah,  no,  no,  no !  "  she  whis- 
pered, "  I  would  not  wed  with  thee,  I  dare  not 
wed  with  thee." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Prosper. 

"  I  dare  not,  I  dare  not !  "  she  answered  through 
her  teeth,  and  he  felt  her  trembling  under  his 
hand.  He  thought  before  he  spoke  again.  Then 
he  said — 

"  I  have  vowed  a  vow  to  my  saint  that  I  will 
save  you,  soul  and  body ;  and  if  it  can  be  done 
only  by  a  wedding,  then  we  will  be  married,  you 
and  I,  Isoult.  But  if  by  batde  I  can  serve  your 
case  as  well,  and  rid  the  suspicion  and  save 
your  neck,  why,  I  will  do  battle." 

"  Nay,  lord,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  must  be 
hanged,  for  so  the  Lord  Abbot  has  decreed." 
And  then  she  told  him  all  that  Galors  had  given 
her  to  understand  when  he  had  her  in  the  quarry. 

Prosper  heard  her  to  the  end :  it  was  clear 
that  she  spoke  as  she  believed. 


6o  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Well,  child,"  said  he,  "  I  see  that  all  this  is 
likely  enough,  though  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot 
bottom  it.  But  how  then,"  he  cried,  after  a 
little  more  thinking,  "  shall  I  let  you  be  hanged, 
and  your  neck  so  fine  and  smooth !  " 

"  Lord,"  she  said,  "  let  be  for  that ;  for  smce 
I  was  born  I  have  heard  of  my  low  condition, 
and  if  my  neck  be  slim  'tis  the  sooner  broke. 
Let  me  go  then,  but  only  grant  me  this  grace,  to 
stand  beside  me  at  the  tree  and  not  leave  me  till 
I  am  dead.  For  there  may  be  a  worse  thing 
than  death  preparing  for  me."  Again  she  cried 
out  at  her  own  thoughts — "  Ah,  no,  no,  no,  I  dare 
not  let  thee  wed  me  I  "  He  heard  the  wringing 
of  her  hands,  and  guessed  her  beside  herself. 

He  stood,  therefore,  reasoning  it  all  out  -some- 
thing after  this  fashion.  "  Look  now,  Prosper," 
thought  he,  "  this  child  says  truer  than  she 
knows.  It  is  an  ill  thing  to  be  hanged,  but  a 
worse  to  deserve  a  hanging,  and  worst  of  all  for 
her,  it  seems,  to  escape  a  hanging.  And  it  is 
good  to  find  death  sweet  when  he  comes  (since 
come  he  must),  but  better  to  prove  life  also  a 
pleasant  thing.  And  life  is  here  urgent,  though 
in  fetters,  in  this  child's  breast ;  but  death  is  not 
yet  here.  Yet  if  I  leave  her  she  gains  death,  or 
life  (which  is  worse),  and  if  I  take  her  with  me  it 
can  only  be  one  way.  What  then !  a  man  can 
lay  down  his  life  in  many  ways,  giving  it  for  the 
life  that  needeth,  whether  by  jumping  a  red  grave 
or  by  means  slower  but  not  less  sure.  And  if 
by  any  deed  of  mine  I  pluck  this  child  out  of 
the  mire,  put  clear  light  into  her  eyes  (which  now 
are  all  dark),  and  set  the  flush  on  her  grey  cheeks 


THE  VIRGIN   MARRIAGE  6i 

which  she  was  assuredly  designed  to  carry  there ; 
and  if  she  breathe  sweet  air  and  grow  in  the 
grace  of  God  and  sight  of  men — why  then  I 
have  done  well,  however  else  I  do." 

He  thought  no  more,  but  took  the  girl's  hand 
again  in  both  of  his.  "Well,  Isoult,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  "  thou  shalt  not  be  hanged  yet  awhile, 
nor  shall  that  worse  thing  befall  thee.  I  will 
wed  thee  as  soon  as  I  may.  At  cock-crow  we 
two  will  seek  a  priest." 

"Lord,"  she  said,  "a  priest  is  here  in  this 
place." 

"Why,  yes!  Brother  Bonaccord.  Well,"  said 
Prosper,  "  let  us  go  in." 

But  Isoult  was  troubled  afresh,  and  put  her 
hand  against  his  chest  to  stay  him,  breathing  very 
short. 

"Lord,"  she  said,  "thou  wilt  wed  me  to 
save  my  soul  from  hell  and  my  body  from 
hanging;  but  thou  hast  no  love  for  me  in  thy 
heart,  as  I  know  very  well." 

Here  was  a  bother  indeed.  The  girl  was  fair 
enough  in  her  peaked  elfin  way ;  but  the  fact 
was  that  he  did  not  love  her — nor  anybody.  He 
had  nothing  to  say  therefore.  She  waited  a  little, 
and  then,  with  her  voice  sunk  to  a  low  murmur, 
she  said — 

"  We  two  will  never  come  together  except  in 
love.     Shall  it  not  be  so  ?  " 

Prosper  bowed,  saying — 

"  It  shall  be  so." 

The  girl  knelt  suddenly  down  and  kissed  his 
foot.     Then  she  rose  and  stood  near  him. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  she  said. 


62  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Looking  up,  they  saw  the  field  of  heaven 
strewn  thick  with  stars,  the  clouds  driven  off,  the 
wind  dropt.  And  then  they  went  into  the  hovel 
hand-in-hand,  as  they  had  gone  out. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  them  come  in  together  the 
old  man  fell  to  chuckling  and  rubbing  his  hands, 

"  Wife  Maid,  wife  Maid,  look  up  !  "  cried  he  ; 
"  there  will  be  a  wedding  this  night.  See,  they 
are  hand-fasted  already." 

Maid  the  witch  rose  up  from  the  hearth  at  last 
and  faced  the  betrothed.  She  was  terrible  to 
view  in  her  witless  old  age  ;  her  face  drawn  into 
furrows  and  dull  as  lead,  her  bleared  eyes  empty 
of  sight  or  conscience,  and  her  thin  hair 
scattered  before  them.  It  was  despair,  not 
sorrow,  that  Prosper  read  on  such  a  face.  Now 
she  peered  upon  the  hand-locked  couple,  now  she 
parted  the  hair  from  her  eyes,  now  slowly  pointed 
a  finger  at  them.  Her  hand  shook  with  palsy, 
but  she  raised  it  up  to  bless  them.  To  Prosper 
she  said — 

"  Thou  who  art  as  pitiful  as  death,  shalt  have 
thy  reward.  And  it  shall  be  more  than  thou 
knowest." 

To  the  girl  she  gave  no  promises,  but  with  her 
crutch  hobbled  over  the  floor  to  where  she  stood. 
She  put  her  hand  into  her  daughter's  bosom  and 
felt  there  ;  she  seemed  contented,  for  she  said  to 
her  very  earnestly — 

"  Keep  thou  what  thou  hast  there  till  the  hour 
of  thy  greatest  peril.  Then  it  shall  not  fail  thee 
to  whomsoever  thou  shalt  show  it." 

Then  she  withdrew  her  hand  and  crawled  back 
to  crouch  over  the  ashes  of  the  fire  ;  nor  did  she 


THE   VIRGIN   MARRIAGE  63 

open  her  lips  again  that  night,  nor  take  any  part 
or  lot  in  what  followed. 

"  Call  the  priest,  old  man,"  said  Prosper,  "  for 
the  night  is  spending,  and  to-morrow  we  should 
be  up  before  the  sun." 

The  old  thief  went  to  a  little  door  and  opened 
it,  whispering, 

"  Come,  father  ;  "  and  there  came  out  Brother 
Bonaccord  of  Lucca,  very  solemn,  vested  in  a 
frayed  vestment. 

"  Young  sir,"  he  said,  wagging  a  portentous 
finger,  "  you  are  of  the  simple  folk  our  good 
Father  Francis  loved.  No  harm  should  come  of 
this.  And  I  pray  our  Lady  that  I  never  may 
play  a  worse  trick  on  a  maid  than  this  which  I 
shall  play  now." 

"  We  have  no  ring,"  said  Prosper  to  all  this 
prelude. 

"  Content  you,  my  master,"  replied  Matt-o'- 
the-Moor  ;  "  here  is  what  you  need." 

And  he  gave  him  a  silver  ring  made  of  three 
thin  wires  curiously  knotted  in  an  endless  plait. 

"The  ring  will  serve  the  purpose,"  Prosper 
said.      "  Now,  brother,  at  your  disposition." 

Brother  Bonaccord  had  no  book,  but  seemed 
none  the  worse  for  that.  He  took  the  ring, 
blessed  it,  gave  it  to  Prosper,  and  saw  that  he  put 
it  in  its  proper  place ;  he  said  all  the  words, 
blessed  the  kneeling  couple,  and  gave  them  a 
brisk  little  homily,  which  I  spare  the  reader. 
There  they  were  wedded. 

Matt-o'-the-Moor  at  the  end  of  the  ceremony 
gave  Prosper  a  nudge  in  the  ribs.  He  pointed 
to  a  heap  of  leaves  and  litter. 


64  THE   FOREST    LOVERS 

"  The  marriage-bed,"  he  said  waggishly,  and 
blew  out  the  light. 

Isoult  lay  down  on  the  bed  ;  Prosper  took  off 
his  body-armour  and  lay  beside  her,  and  his 
naked  sword  lay  between  them. 


CHAPTER   VII 

GALORS    ABJURES 

DoM  Galors  knew  a  woman  in  East  Mor- 
graunt  whose  name  was  Maulfry.  She  lived  in 
Tortsentier,  a  lonely  tower  hidden  deep  in  the 
woods,  and  had  an  unwholesome  reputation. 
She  was  held  to  be  a  courtesan.  Many  gentle- 
men adventurous  in  the  forest,  it  was  said,  had 
found  dishonourable  ease  and  shameful  death  at 
her  hands.  She  would  make  them  great  cheer  at 
first  with  hunting  parties,  dancing  in  the  grass- 
rides,  and  love  everywhere  :  so  much  had  been 
seen,  the  rest  was  surmise.  It  was  supposed  that, 
being  tired,  or  changing  for  caprice,  she  had  them 
drugged,  rifled  them  at  leisure,  slew  them  one 
way  or  another,  and  set  her  nets  for  the  next 
new-comer.  This,  I  say,  was  surmise,  and  so  it 
remained.  Tortsentier  was  hard  to  come  at, 
Morgraunt  wide,  death  as  easy  as  lying.  Men 
in  it  had  other  uses  for  their  eyes  than  to  spy  at 
their  neighbours,  and  found  their  weapons  too 
often  needed  in  their  own  quarrels  to  spare  them 
for  others.  To  see  a  man  once  did  not  set  you 
looking  for  him  to  come  again.  You  might 
wander  for  a  month  in  Morgraunt  before  you  got 

6s  F 


66  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

out.     True,   the   odds  were  against  your  doing 
either ;  but  whose  business  was  that  ? 

Galors  probably  knew  the  truth  of  it,  for  he 
was  very  often  at  Tortsentier.  He  knew,  for 
instance,  of  Maulfry's  taste  for  armour.  The 
place  was  full  of  it,  and  had  a  frieze  of  shields, 
which  Maulfry  herself  polished  every  day,  as 
brave  with  blazonry  as  on  the  day  they  first  went 
out  before  their  masters.  Maulfry  was  very  fond 
of  heraldry.  It  was  a  great  delight  of  hers  to  go 
through  her  collection  with  such  a  man  as 
Galors,  who  thoroughly  understood  the  science, 
conning  over  the  quarterings,  the  legends,  the 
badges  and  differences,  and  capping  each  with 
its  appropriate  5tory,  its  little  touch  of  romance, 
its  personal  reference  to  each  owner  in  turn. 
There  was  no  harm  in  all  this,  and  for  Galors' 
part  he  would  be  able  to  testify  that  there  was  no 
luxurious  company  there  when  he  came,  and  no 
dark  hints  of  violence,  treachery,  or  mischief  for 
the  most  suspicious  eye  to  catch  at.  Tortsentier 
was  not  so  far  from  the  Abbey  liberties  that  one 
might  not  fetch  at  it  in  a  six  hours'  ride, 
provided  one  knew  the  road.  Galors  was  a 
great  rider  and  knew  the  road  by  heart.  He  was 
a  frequent  visitor  of  Maulfry's,  therefore,  and 
would  have  seen  what  there  was  to  see.  If  the 
cavillers  had  known  that  it  would  have  quieted 
many  a  whisper  over  the  fire.  They  might  have 
been  told,  further,  that  Maulfry  and  he  were  very 
old  friends,  and  from  a  time  long  before  his  entry 
into  religion  at  Holy  Thorn.  If  there  had  been 
love  between  them,  it  had  left  no  scar.  Love 
with   Galors  was  a  pastime  :  he   might  make  a 


GALORS  ABJURES  67 

woman  his  mistress,  but  he  could  never  allow  her 
to  be  his  master.  And  whatever  there  had  been 
in  this  sort,  any  love  now  left  in  Maulfry  for  the 
monk  was  largely  tempered  with  respect.  They 
were  excellent  friends. 

It  was  to  Tortsentier  and  to  Maulfry  that 
Dom  Galors  rode  through  the  rain  when  he  had 
finished  biting  his  nails  in  the  quarry.  Very 
late  that  night  he  knocked  at  her  door.  Maulfry, 
who  slept  by  day,  opened  at  once,  and  when  she 
saw  who  it  was  made  him  very  welcome.  She 
sent  her  page  up  with  dry  clothes,  heaped  logs 
on  the  fire,  and  set  a  table  against  his  return, 
with  venison,  and  white  bread,  and  sweet  wine. 
Galors,  who  was  ravenous  by  now,  needed  no 
pressing  :  he  sat  down  and  ate  without  speaking, 
nor  did  she  urge  him  for  a  message  or  for  news, 
but  kept  her  place  by  the  fire,  smiling  into  it 
until  he  had  done.  She  was  a  tall,  dark  woman, 
very  handsome  and  finely  shaped,  having  the 
neck,  arms,  and  bosom  of  Juno,  or  of  that  lady 
whom  Nicholas  the  Pisan  sculptor  fashioned  on 
her  model  to  be  Queen  of  Heaven  and  Earth. 
And  Maulfry  suffered  no  one  to  be  in  doubt  as 
to  the  abundance  and  glory  of  her  treasure. 

When  Galors  was  well  fed  she  beckoned  him 
with  a  nod  to  his  place  on  the  settle.  He  came 
and  sat  by  the  side  of  her,  blinking  into  the  fire 
for  some  minutes  without  a  word. 

"Well,  friend,"  said  Maulfry  at  last,  "and 
what  do  you  want  with  your  servant  at  such  an 
hour?  For  though  I  am  not  unused  to  have 
guests,  it  is  seldom  that  you  are  of  the  party  in 
these  days." 


68  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Galors,  who  never  made  prefaces,  told  her 
everything,  except  the  real  rank  and  condition  of 
Isoult.  As  to  that,  he  said  that  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion was  undoubtedly  an  heiress,  as  she  was 
undeniably  a  beauty,  but  he  was  careful  to  make 
it  plain  that  her  inheritance,  and  not  her  person, 
tempted  him.  This  I  believe  to  have  been  the 
truth  by  now.  He  then  related  what  had  passed 
in  the  quarry,  and  what  he  intended  to  do  next. 
He  added — 

"Whether  I  succeed  or  not — and  as  to  that 
vnuch  depends  upon  you — I  am  resolved  to 
abjure  my  frock  and  my  vows,  and  to  aim  hence- 
forward for  a  temporal  crown." 

"  I  think  the  frock  is  all  that  need  concern 
you,"  said  Maulfry. 

"  You  are  right,  pretty  lady,"  he  replied ; 
"  and  that  shall  concern  me  no  more.  You  shall 
furnish  me  with  a  suit  of  mail  out  of  your  store, 
with  a  shield,  a  good  spear  and  a  sword.  I  have 
already  a  horse,  which  I  owe  to  the  vicarious 
bounty  of  the  Lord  Abbot,  exercised  through 
me,  his  right-hand  man.  This  then  will  be 
all  I  shall  ask  of  you  on  my  account,  so  far 
as  I  can  see  at  present.  With  what  I  know 
to  back  them  they  may  win  me  an  earldom 
and  a  pretty  partner.  At  least  they  will  enable 
me  to  pay  Master  Red -Feather  my  httle 
score." 

The  pupils  of  Maulfry's  eyes  narrowed  to  a 
pair  of  pin  points. 

'^  What  is  this  ?  "  she  said  quickly.  "  Red 
feathers  ?  A  surcoat  white  and  green  ?  A  gold 
baldrick  ?      Did  he  bear  a  fesse  dancettee  upon 


GALORS   ABJURES  69 

his  shield,  a  hooded  falcon  for  his  crest  ?  "  Her 
questions  chimed  with  her  panting. 

"  By  baldrick  and  shield  I  know  him  for  a  Gai 
of  Staining,"  said  Galors.  "  So  much  is  certain, 
but  which  of  them  in  particular  I  cannot  tell 
certainly.  There  were  half-a-dozen  at  one  time. 
Not  Malise,  I  think.  He  is  too  thin-lipped  for 
such  work  as  that.  He  can  do  sums  in  his 
head,  is  a  ready  reckoner.  This  lad  was  quick 
enough  to  act,  but  not  quick  enough  to  refrain 
from  acting.  Malise  would  not  have  acted.  He 
can  see  too  far  ahead.  Nor  is  it  Osric.  He 
would  have  made  speeches  and  let  vapours. 
This  lad  was  quiet." 

"  Quiet  as  God,"  said  Maulfry  with  a  stare. 

"  But,"  Galors  went  on,  "  you  need  not  think 
for  him,  who  or  what  he  was.  I  shall  meet  him 
to-morrow,  and  if  things  go  as  they  should  you 
shall  see  me  again  very  soon.  You  shall  come 
to  a  wedding.  A  wedding  in  Tortsentier  will  not 
be  amiss,  dame.  Moreover,  it  will  be  new.  If 
I  fail — well,  then  also  you  shall  see  me,  and 
serve  me  other  ways.     Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

Maulfry  frowned  a  little  as  she  thought.  Then 
she  laughed. 

"  You  know  very  well  I  will  do  more  for  you 
than  this.  And  how  much  will  you  do  for  me, 
Galors  ? " 

"  Ask  and  see,"  said  Galors. 

"  I  too  may  have  accounts  to  settle." 

"You  will  find  me  a  good  bailiff,  Maulfry. 
Punctual  at  the  audit." 

Maulfry  laughed  again  as  she  looked  up  at 
her  armour.     Galors'  look  followed  hers. 


7o  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

"Choose,  Galors,"  she  said;  "choose,  my 
champion.     Choose,  Sir  Galors  de  Born  !  " 

Galors  took  a  long  and  deliberate  survey. 

"I  will  go  in  black,"  said  he,  "and  for  the 
rest,  since  I  am  no  man  of  race,  the  coat  is  in- 
different to  me."  So  he  began  to  read  and 
comment  upon  his  texts.  "  Je  tiendray — why, 
so  I  shall,  but  it  savours  of  forecast,  brags  a 
little." 

"  None  the  worse  for  my  knight,"  said  Maulfry. 

"  No,  no,"  he  laughed,  "  but  let  me  get  some- 
thing of  which  to  brag  first.  Hum.  Dieu  men 
garde — we  will  leave  God  out  of  the  reckoning, 
I  think.  Designando  —  I  will  do  more  than 
point  out,  by  the  Rood!  Jesus,  Amor,  Ma 
Dame — I  know  none  of  these.  Entra  per  me — 
Oh  brave,  brave  !     'Tis  your  latest,  dame  ? " 

Maulfry 's  eyes  grew  hard  and  bright.  "  Choose 
it,  choose,  my  Galors!"  she  cried.  "And  if 
with  that  you  beat  down  the  red  feather,  and 
blind  the  hooded  hawk,  you  will  serve  me  more 
than  you  dream.     Oh,  choose,  choose !  " 

'^  Entra  per  me  pleases  me,  I  confess.  But 
what  are  the  arms  ?     Wickets  ? " 

"  Three  white  wicket-gates  on  a  sable  field.  It 
was  the  coat  of  Salomon  de  Montguichet." 

"Salomon?"  said  Galors  all  in  a  whisper. 
"  Never  Salomon  ?     Do  you  not  remember  ? " 

Maulfry  laughed.  "I  should  remember,  I 
think.  But  there  is  no  monopoly.  What  we 
chose  others  can  choose.  The  name  is  free  to 
the  world,  and  a  great  name." 

Galors,  visibly  uneasy,  thought  hard  about  it. 
Then  he  swore.     "  And  I  go  for  great  deeds,  by 


GALORS   ABJURES  71 

Heaven !  Give  it  me,  Dame.  I  will  have  it. 
Entra  per  me!  And  shut  the  wickets  when  I 
am  in  ! 

He  kissed  Maulfry  then  and  there,  and  they 
went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE    SALLY    AT    DAWN 

On  the  morning  after  his  strange  wedding 
Prosper  rose  up  early,  quite  himself.  He  left 
Isoult  asleep  in  the  bed,  but  could  see  neither 
old  man,  old  woman,  nor  friar;  so  far  as  he 
could  tell,  he  and  his  wife  were  alone  in  the 
cottage.  Now  he  must  think  what  to  do.  He 
admitted  freely  enough  to  himself  that  he  had 
not  been  in  a  condition  for  this  over-night :  the 
girl's  mood  had  exalted  him ;  he  had  acted,  and 
rightly  acted  (he  was  clear  about  this)  ;  now  he 
must  think  what  to  do.  The  first  duty  was 
plain :  he  went  out  into  the  air  and  bathed  in  a 
pool ;  he  took  a  quick  run  and  set  his  blood 
galloping ;  then  he  groomed  and  fed  his  horse, 
put  on  his  armour,  and  said  his  prayers.  In  the 
course  of  this  last  exercise  he  again  remembered 
his  wife,  on  whose  account  he  had  determined 
to  make  up  his  mind.  He  rose  from  his  knees 
at  once  and  walked  about  the  heath,  thinking 
it  out 

"  It  is  clear  enough,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that 
neither  my  wife  nor  I  desired  marriage.  We  are 
not  of  the  same  condition  ;  we  have  not — I  speak 
for  myself  and  by  implication  for  her  also — we 

72 


THE   SALLY   AT  DAWN  73 

have  not  those  desires  which  draw  men  and 
women  towards  each  other.  Love,  no  doubt,  is 
a  strange  and  terrible  thing :  it  may  lead  a  man 
to  the  writing  of  verses  and  a  most  fatiguing 
search  for  words,  but  it  will  not  allow  him  to  be 
happy  in  anything  except  its  own  satisfaction ; 
and  in  that  it  seems  absurd  to  be  happy. 
Marriage  is  in  the  same  plight :  it  may  be  a 
good  or  a  bad  thing ;  without  love  it  is  a  ridi- 
culous thing.  Nevertheless  my  wife  and  I  are 
of  agreement  in  this,  that  we  think  marriage 
better  than  being  hanged.  I  do  not  understand 
the  alternatives,  but  I  accept  them,  and  am 
married.  My  wife  will  not  be  hanged.  For  the 
rest,  I  shall  take  her  to  Gracedieu.  The  devout 
ladies  there  will  no  doubt  make  a  nun  of  her; 
she  will  be  out  of  harm's  way,  and  all  will  be 
well." 

He  said  another  prayer,  and  rose  up  much 
comforted.  And  then  as  he  got  up  Isoult  came 
out  of  the  cottage. 

She  ran  towards  him  quickly,  knelt  down  be- 
fore he  could  prevent  her,  took  his  hand  and 
kissed  it.  She  was  very  shy  of  him,  and  when 
he  raised  her  up  and  kissed  her  forehead,  suffered 
the  caress  with  lowered  eyes  and  a  face  all  rosy. 
Prosper  found  her  very  different  from  the  tattered 
bride  of  over-night.  She  had  changed  her  rags 
for  a  cotton  gown  of  dark  blue,  her  clouds  of 
hair  were  now  drawn  back  over  her  ears  into  a 
knot  and  covered  with  a  silk  hood  of  Indian 
work.  On  her  feet,  then  bare,  he  now  saw 
sandals,  round  her  waist  a  leather  belt  with  a 
thin  dagger  attached  to  it  in  a  silver  sheath.    She 


74  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

looked  very  timidly,  even  humbly  up  at  him 
whenever  he  spoke  to  her — with  the  long  faith- 
fulness of  a  dog  shining  in  her  big  eyes:  but 
she  looked  like  a  girl  who  was  to  be  respected, 
and  even  Prosper  could  not  but  perceive  what  a 
dark  beauty  she  was.  Pale  she  was,  no  doubt, 
except  when  she  blushed  ;  but  this  she  did  as 
freely  as  hill-side  clouds  in  March. 

"  Where  is  your  wedding-ring,  my  child  ? " 
he  asked  her,  when  he  had  noticed  that  it  was 
not  where  he  had  put  it. 

"Lord,  it  is  here,"  said  she,  blushing  again. 
She  drew  from  her  neck  a  fine  gold  chain  where- 
on were  the  ring  and  another  trinket  which 
beamed  hke  glass. 

"  Is  that  where  you  would  have  it,  Isoult  ? " 

"  Yes,  lord,"  she  answered.  "  For  this  present 
it  must  be  there." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Prosper.  "  Let  us  break 
our  fast  and  make  readj'^,  for  we  must  be  on  our 
journey  before  we  see  the  sun."  Isoult  went 
into  the  cottage  as  Brother  Bonaccord  came  out 
with  good-morning  all  over  his  puckered  face. 

Isoult  brought  bread  and  goats'-milk  cheese, 
and  they  broke  their  fast  sitting  on  the  threshold, 
while  the  sun  slowly  rose  behind  the  house  and 
lit  up  the  ground  before  them — a  broken  moor- 
land with  heather- clumps  islanded  in  pools  of 
black  water.  The  white  forest  mist  hid  every 
distance  and  the  air  was  shrewdly  cold ;  but 
Prosper  and  the  friar  gossiped  cheerfully  as 
they  munched. 

"  We  friars,"  said  Brother  Bonaccord,  "  have 
been   accused   of  a  foible  for   wedding-rings.     I 


THE    SALLY   AT   DAWN  75 

grant  you  I  had  rather  marry  a  healthy  couple 
than  leave  them  aching,  and  that  the  sooner 
there's  a  christening  the  better  I  am  pleased. 
Another  soul  for  Christ  to  save;  another  point 
against  the  devil,  thinks  I !  I  have  heard 
priests  say  otherwise :  they  will  christen  if 
they  must,  and  marry  if  it  is  not  too  late ; 
but  they  would  sooner  bury  you  any  day.  Go 
to !  They  live  in  the  world  (which  I  vow  is 
an  excellent  place),  and  eat  and  drink  of  it ;  yet 
they  shut  their  eyes,  pretending  all  the  time 
that  they  are  not  there,  but  rather  in  skyey 
mansions.  If  this  is  not  a  fit  and  proper  place 
for  us  men,  why  did  God  Almighty  take  six 
days  a-thinking  before  He  bid  it  out  of  the  cook- 
ing pot  ?  For  a  gift  to  the  devil  ?  Not  He ! 
'  Stop  bubbling,  you  rogue,'  says  He ;  '  out  of  the 
pot  with  you  and  on  to  the  platter,  that  these 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  mine  may  cease  sucking 
their  fingers  and  dip  in  the  dish ! '  Pooh ! 
Look  at  your  mother  Mary  and  your  little 
brother  Gesulino.  There  was  a  wedding  for 
you,  there  was  a  sacring !  Beloved  sons  are  ye 
all,  young  men ;  full  of  grace  are  ye,  young 
women !  God  be  good,  who  told  me  to  couple 
ye  and  keep  the  game  a-going !  Take  my  blessing, 
brother,  and  the  sleek  and  tidy  maid  you  have 
gotten  to  wife ;  I  must  be  on  the  road.  I  am 
for  Hauterive  out  of  the  hanging  Abbot's  country. 
He'll  be  itching  about  that  new  gallows  of  his, 
thinking  how  I  should  look  up  there." 

He  kissed  them  both  very  heartily  and  trudged 
out  into  the  mist,  waving  his  hand. 

"There    goes   a   good    soul,"    said    Prosper. 


76  THE  FOREST  LOVERS 

"Give  me  something  to  drink,  child,  I  beseech 
you. 

Isoult  brought  a  great  bowl  of  milk  and 
gave  it  into  his  hands,  afterwards  (though  he 
never  saw  her)  she  drank  of  it  from  the  place 
where  he  had  put  his  lips.  Then  it  was  time 
for  them  also  to  take  the  road.  Isoult  went 
away  again,  and  returned  leading  Prosper's  horse 
and  shield ;  she  brought  an  ass  for  herself  to 
ride  on.     Curtseying  to  him  she  asked — 

"  Is  my  lord  ready  ? " 

"Ready  for  anything  in  life,  my  child,"  said 
he  as  he  took  her  up  and  put  her  on  the  ass. 
Then  he  mounted  his  horse.  They  set  off  at  once 
over  the  heath,  striking  north.  None  watched 
them  go. 

The  sky  was  now  without  cloud.  White  all 
about,  it  swam  into  clear  blue  overhead.  A 
light  breeze,  brisk  and  fresh,  blew  the  land  clear, 
only  little  patches  of  the  morning  mist  hung 
torn  and  ragged  about  the  furze-bushes.  The 
forest  was  still  densely  veiled,  but  the  sun  was 
up,  the  larks  afloat ;  the  rains  of  over-night  crisped 
and  sparkled  on  the  grass :  there  was  promise 
of  great  weather.  Presently  with  its  slant  roofs 
shining,  its  gilded  spires  and  cross,  Prosper  saw 
on  his  left  the  great  Abbey  of  Holy  Thorn.  He 
saw  the  river  with  a  boat's  sail,  the  village  of 
Malbank  Saint  Thorn  on  the  further  bank  and 
the  cloud  of  thin  blue  smoke  over  it ;  far  across 
the  heath  came  the  roar  of  the  weirs.  Behind 
it  and  on  all  sides  began  to  rise  before  him  the 
dark  rampart  of  trees — Morgraunt. 

Prosper's  heart  grew  merry  within  him  at  the 


THE    SALLY   AT   DAWN  77 

sight  of  all  this  freshness,  the  splendour  of  the 
morning.  He  was  disposed  to  be  well  contented 
with  everything,  even  with  Isoult,  upon  whom 
he  looked  down  once  or  twice,  to  see  her 
pacing  gently  beside  him,  a  guarded  and  grace- 
ful possession.  "  Well,  friend,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "you  have  a  proper-seeming  wife,  it 
appears,  of  whom  it  would  be  well  to  know 
something." 

He  began  to  question  her,  and  this  time  she 
told  him  everything  he  asked  her,  except  why 
she  was  called  Isoult  la  Desirous.  As  to  this, 
she  persisted  that  she  could  not  tell  him.  He 
took  it  good-temperedly,  with  a  shrug. 

"  I  see  something  mysterious  in  all  this,  child," 
said  he,  "  and  am  not  fond  of  mysteries.  But  I 
married  thee  to  draw  thee  from  the  hangman  and 
not  thy  secrets  from  thee.  Keep  thy  counsel 
therefore." 

She  hung  her  head. 

To  all  other  questions  she  was  as  open  as  he 
could  wish.  From  her  earliest  childhood,  he 
learned,  she  had  known  servitude,  and  been 
familiar  with  scorn  and  reproach.  She  had 
been  swineherd,  goose-girl,  scare-crow,  laundress, 
scullery-wench,  and  what  not,  as  her  mother  could 
win  for  her.  She  could  never  better  herself,  be- 
cause of  the  taint  of  witchcraft  and  all  the  unholi- 
ness  it  brought  upon  her.  As  laundress  and 
scullery-maid  she  had  been  at  the  Abbey;  that 
had  been  her  happiest  time  but  for  one  circum- 
stance, of  which  she  told  him  later.  Of  her  father 
she  spoke  little,  save  that  he  had  often  beaten 
her ;    of  her  mother  more  tenderly — it  seemed 


78  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

they  loved  each  other — but  with  an  air  of  con- 
straint. Her  parents  were  undoubtedly  in  ill- 
savour  throughout  the  tithing ;  her  father,  a 
rogue  who  would  cut  a  throat  as  easily  as  a 
purse,  her  mother,  a  wise  woman  patently  in 
league  with  the  devil.  But  she  said  that, 
although  she  could  not  tell  the  reason  of  it,  the 
Abbot  had  protected  them  from  judgment  many 
a  time — whether  it  was  her  father  for  breaking 
the  forest-law,  deer-stealing,  wood-cutting,  or 
keeping  running  dogs ;  or  her  mother  from  the 
hatred  and  suspicion  of  the  Malbank  people,  on 
account  of  her  sorceries  and  enchantments.  More 
especially  did  the  Abbot  take  notice  of  her,  and, 
while  he  never  hesitated  to  expose  her  to  every 
infamous  reproach  or  report,  and  (apparently)  to 
take  a  delight  in  them,  yet  guarded  her  from  the 
direct  consequences  as  if  she  had  been  sacred. 
This  her  parents  knew  very  well,  and  never  scrupled 
to  turn  to  their  advantage.  For  when  hard  put 
to  it  they  would  bring  her  forward  between  them, 
set  her  before  the  Abbot,  and  say,  "  For  the  sake 
of  the  child,  my  lord,  let  us  go."  Which  the 
Abbot  always  did. 

Cried  Prosper  here,  "  What  did  he  want,  this 
fatherly  Abbot  ? " 

"  My  lord,"  said  Isoult,  "  he  sought  to  have 
me  put  away." 

"  Well,  child,"  Prosper  chuckled,  "  he  has  got 
his  wish." 

"  He  wished  it  long  ago,  lord,"  she  said ;  "  be- 
fore I  was  marriageable." 

"  And  it  was  not  to  thy  taste  ? " 

*'  No,  lord." 


THE    SALLY   AT   DAWN  79 

"  It  was  not  of  that  then  that  thou  wert  La 
Desirous  ? " 

"  No,  lord,"  said  Isoult  in  a  low  voice. 

"  So  I  thought,"  was  Prosper's  comment  to 
himself.     "  The  friar  was  out." 

She  went  on  to  tell  him  of  her  service  with  the 
Abbey  as  laundry-maid,  then  as  scullery-girl; 
then  she  spoke  of  Galors.  She  told  him  how 
this  monk  had  seen  her  by  chance  in  the  Abbey 
kitchen ;  how  he  sought  to  get  too  well  acquainted 
with  her ;  how  she  had  fled  the  service  and  refused 
to  go  back.  Nevertheless,  and  in  spite  of  that, 
she  had  had  no  peace  because  of  him.  He 
chanced  upon  her  again  when  she  was  among 
the  crowd  at  the  Alms  Gate  waiting  for  the  dole, 
had  kept  her  to  the  end,  and  spoken  with  her  then 
and  there,  telling  her  all  his  desire,  opening  all  his 
wicked  heart.  She  fled  from  him  again  for  the 
time ;  but  every  day  she  must  needs  go  up  for 
the  dole,  so  every  day  she  saw  him  and  endured 
his  importunities.  This  had  lasted  up  to  the  very 
day  she  saw  Prosper  :  at  that  time  he  had  nearly 
prevailed  upon  her  by  his  own  frenzy  and  her 
terror  of  the  Abbot's  threat.  She  never  doubted 
the  truth  of  what  he  told  her,  for  the  Abbot's 
privy  mind  had  been  declared  to  much  the  same 
purpose  to  Maid  her  mother. 

"  But  this  privy  mind  of  his,"  said  Prosper, 
"  must  have  swung  wide  from  its  first  leaning, 
which  seems  to  have  been  to  preserve  thee. 
Could  he  not  have  ruined  thee  without  a  charter  ? 
An  Abbot  and  a  cook-maid !  Could  he  not  have 
ruined  thee  without  a  rope  ?  " 

"My  lord,"  she  replied,  "I  think  he  was  merci- 


8o  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

ful.  I  was  to  be  hanged  by  his  desire ;  but  there 
was  worse  with  Galors." 

"  Ah,  I  had  forgotten  him,"  Prosper  said. 

She  had  spoken  all  this  in  a  low  voice  through 
which  ran  a  trembling,  as  when  a  great  string  on 
a  harp  is  touched  and  thrills  all  the  music.  Prosper 
thought  she  would  have  said  more  if  she  dared. 
Although  she  spoke  great  scorn  of  herself  and 
hid  nothing,  yet  he  knew  without  asking  that  she 
had  been  truthful  when  she  had  told  him  she  was 
pure.  He  looked  at  her  again  and  made  assur- 
ance double ;  yet  he  wondered  how  it  could  be. 

"Tell  me,  Isoult,"  he  said  presently,  "when 
thou  sawest  me  come  into  the  quarry,  didst  thou 
know  that  I  should  take  thee  away  ? " 

"  Yes,  lord,"  said  she,  "  when  I  saw  your  face  I 
knew  it." 

"  What  of  my  face,  child  ?  Hadst  thou  seen 
me  before  that  day  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  this. 

"  It  is  likely  enough,"  he  went  on.  "  For  in 
my  father's  day  we  often  rode,  I  and  my  brothers, 
with  him  in  the  Abbey  fees,  hawking  or  hunting 
the  deer.  And  if  thou  wert  goose-herd  or  shep- 
herdess thou  mightest  easily  have  seen  us." 

Isoult  said,  "  My  lord,  if  I  had  seen  thee 
twenty  times  before  or  none,  I  had  trusted  thee 
when  I  saw  thy  face," 

"  How  so,  child  ?  "  asked  he. 

For  answer  to  this  she  looked  quickly  up  at 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then  hung  her  head, 
blushing.  He  had  had  time  to  see  that  dog's 
look  of  trust  again  in  her  eyes. 

"  My  wife  takes  kindly  to  me !  "  he  thought. 


THE   SALLY  AT  DAWN  8i 

"  Let  us  hope  she  will  find  Gracedieu  even  more 
to  her  mind." 

They  rode  on,  being  now  very  near  the  actual 
forest.     Prosper  began  again  with  his  questions. 

"What  enmity,"  he  said,  "the  Abbot  had  for 
thee,  Isoult,  or  what  lurking  pity,  or  what  grain 
of  doubt,  I  cannot  understand.  It  seems  that  he 
wished  thy  ruin  most  devoutly,  but  that  being  a 
Christian  and  a  man  of  honour  he  sought  to 
compass  it  in  a  Christian  and  gentlemanly  way. 
Might  not  marriage  have  appeared  to  him  the 
appointed  means?  And  should  I  not  tell  him 
that  thou  art  ruined  according  to  his  aspirations  ?  " 

"Lord,"  said  she,  "he  will  know  it." 

"  Saints  and  angels !  "  Prosper  cried,  "  who  will 
tell  him?  Not  Brother  Bonaccord,  who  loves  no 
monks." 

"  Nay,  lord,  but  my  mother  will  tell  him  for 
the  ruin  of  Galors,  who  hates  her  and  is  hated 
again.  Moreover,  there  are  many  in  Malbank 
who  will  find  it  out  soon  enough." 

"  How  is  that,  child  ? " 

"  Lord,  many  of  them  sought  to  have  me." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  said  Prosper ;  and  after 
a  pause  he  said  again — "  I  would  like  to  meet  this 
Galors  of  thine  out  of  his  frock.  He  looked  a 
long-armed,  burly  rogue ;  it  seemed  that  there 
might  be  some  fighting  in  him.  Further,  some 
chastisement  of  him,  if  it  could  conveniently  be 
done,  would  seem  to  be  my  duty,  since  he  has 
touched  at  thy  honour,  which  is  now  mine.  I 
should  certainly  like  to  meet  him  unfrocked." 

"Lord,"  answered  the  girl,  "that  will  come 
soon  enough.     1  pray  that  thine  arm  be  strong, 


82  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

for  he  is  very  fierce,  and  a  terrible  man  in 
Malbank,  more   often  armed  than  in  his  robe." 

"  He  must  be  an  indifferent  monk,"  Prosper 
said;  "  God  seems  not  well  served  in  such  a  man's 
life.    Holy  Church  would  be  holier  without  him." 

''  He  is  a  great  hunter,  my  lord,"  said  Isoult. 

"  It  would  certainly  seem  so,"  said  Prosper 
grimly.     "  Where  should  I  find  him  likeliest  ? " 

"Lord,  look  for  him  in  Martle  Brush." 

''  Ah !     And  where  is  that  ?  " 

"  Lord,  it  is  here  by,"  said  Isoult. 

Prosper  looked  about  him  sharply.  He  found 
that  they  had  left  the  heath,  and  were  riding  down 
a  smooth  grassy  place  into  a  deep  valley.  The 
decline  was  dotted  with  young  oak-trees,  sparse 
at  the  top  but  thickening  in  clusters  and  ranks 
lower  down.  Between  the  stems,  but  at  some 
distance,  he  could  see  a  herd  of  deer  feeding  on 
the  rank  grass  by  a  brook  at  the  bottom. 
Beyond  the  brook  again  the  wood  grew  still 
thicker  with  holly  trees  and  yews  interspersed 
with  the  oaks :  the  land  he  could  see  rose  more 
abruptly  on  that  side,  and  was  densely  wooded  to 
the  top  of  another  ridge  as  high  as  that  which  he 
and  Isoult  descended.  The  ridge  itself  was  im- 
penetrably dark  with  a  forest  gloom  which  never 
left  it  at  this  season  of  the  year.  As  he  studied 
the  place,  Martle  Brush  as  he  supposed  it  to  be, 
he  saw  a  hart  in  the  herd  stop  feeding  and  lift 
his  head  to  snuff'  the  air,  then  with  his  antlers 
thrown  back,  trot  off  along  the  brook,  and  all  the 
herd  behind  him.  This  set  him  thinking ;  he 
knew  the  deer  had  not  winded  him.  The  breeze 
set  from  them   rather,  over  the  valley,  from  the 


THE   SALLY  AT  DAWN  83 

north-east.  He  said  nothing  to  his  companion, 
but  kept  his  eyes  open  as  they  began  to  descend 
deeper  into  the  gorge.  Presently  he  saw  three 
or  four  crows  which  had  been  wheeling  over  the 
tops  of  the  trees  come  and  settle  on  a  dead  oak 
by  the  brook-side.  Still  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
man.  Again  he  glanced  down  at  Isoult ;  this 
time  she  too  was  alert,  with  a  little  flush  in  her 
cheeks,  but  no  words  on  her  lips  to  break  the 
silence  they  kept.  So  they  descended  the  steep 
place,  picking  their  way  as  best  they  could 
among  the  loose  rocks  and  boulders,  with  eyes 
painfully  at  gaze,  yet  with  no  reward,  until  they 
reached  a  place  where  the  track  went  narrowly 
between  great  rooted  rocks  with  holly  trees  thick 
on  either  side.  Immediately  before  them  was 
the  brook,  shallow  and  fordable,  with  muddy 
banks ;  the  track  ran  on  across  it  and  steeply  up 
the  opposite  ridge.  Midway  of  this  Prosper 
now  saw  a  knight  fully  armed  in  black  (but  with 
a  white  plume  to  his  helmet),  sitting  a  great 
black  horse,  his  spear  erect  and  his  shield  before 
him.  He  could  even  make  out  the  cognizance 
upon  it — three  white  wicket-gates  argent  on  a 
field  sable — but  not  the  motto.  The  shield  set 
him  thinking  where  he  could  have  seen  it  before, 
for  he  knew  it  perfectly  well.  Then  suddenly 
Isoult  said,  "  Lord,  this  is  Galors  the  Monk." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  said  Prosper,  "  is  this  Galors  ?     I 
hke  him  better  than  I  did." 

"Lord,"  she  asked  in  a  tremble,  "what  wilt 
thou  do  ? " 

'  Do !  "  he  cried  ;  "  are  there  so  many  things 
to  do  ?    You  are  not  afraid^  child  ? " 


84  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

*'No,  lord,  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  replied,  and 
looked  down  at  her  belt. 

"  Now,  Isoult,"  said  Prosper,  "  you  are  to  stay- 
here  on  your  beast  while  I  go  down  and  clear 
the  road." 

She  obeyed  him  at  once,  and  sat  very  still 
looking  at  Galors  and  at  Prosper,  who  rode 
forward  to  the  level  ground  by  the  ford.  There 
he  stopped  to  see  what  the  other  man  would  be 
at.  Galors  played  the  impenetrable  part  which 
had  served  him  so  well  with  the  Abbot  Richard, 
in  other  words,  did  nothing  but  sit  where  he  was 
with  his  spear  erect,  like  a  bronze  figure  on  a 
bridge.  Impassivity  had  always  been  the  strength 
of  Galors  ;  women  had  bruised  themselves  against 
it:  but  Prosper  had  little  to  do  with  women's 
ways. 

"  Sir,  why  do  you  bar  my  passage  ? "  he  sang 
out,  irrepressibly  cheerful  at  present.  Galors 
never  answered  him  a  word.  Prosper  divined 
him  at  this ;  he  was  to  climb  the  hill,  and  so  be 
at  the  double  disadvantage  of  having  no  spear 
and  of  being  below  him  that  had  one.  "The 
pale  rascal  means  to  make  this  a  game  of  skittles," 
he  thought  to  himself.  "  We  shall  see,  my  man. 
In  the  mean  time  I  wish  I  knew  your  shield." 
So  saying  he  forded  the  brook,  stayed,  called  out 
again,  "  Whose  shield  is  that,  Galors  ? "  and 
again  got  no  reply.  "  Black  dog !  "  cried  he  in 
a  rage,  "  take  your  vantage  and  expect  no  more." 
Whereupon  he  set  his  horse  at  the  hill  and  rode 
up  with  his  shield  before  him. 

The  black  knight  feutred  his  spear,  clapped 
spurs  to  his  horse's  flanks,  and  bore  down  the 


THE   SALLY  AT  DAWN  85 

hill.  He  rode  magnificently:  horse  and  man 
had  the  impetus  of  a  charging  bull,  and  it  looked 
ill  for  the  man  below.  But  Prosper  had  learned 
a  trick  from  his  father,  which  he  in  turn  had  had 
at  Acre  from  the  Moslems  in  one  of  the  intervals 
of  the  business  there.  In  those  days  men  fought 
like  heroes,  but  between  whiles  remembered  that 
they  were  gentlemen  and  good  fellows  pitted 
against  others  equally  happy  in  these  respects. 
The  consequence  was  that  many  a  throat  was 
cut  by  many  a  hand  which  the  day  before  had 
poured  out  wine  for  its  delight,  and  nobody  was 
any  the  worse.  The  infidels  loved  Mahomet, 
but  they  loved  a  horse  too,  and  Baron  Jocelyn 
was  not  the  man  to  forget  a  lesson  in  riding. 
So  soon,  therefore,  as  Galors  was  upon  him, 
Prosper  slid  his  left  foot  from  the  stirrup  and 
slipt  round  his  horse  almost  to  the  belly,  clinging 
with  his  shield  arm  to  the  bow  of  the  saddle. 
The  spear  struck  his  shield  at  a  tangent  and 
glanced  off.  It  was  a  bad  miss  for  Galors,  since 
horse  and  man  drove  down  the  incline  and  were 
floundering  in  the  brook  before  they  could  stay. 
Prosper  whipped  round  to  see  Galors  mired,  was 
close  on  his  quarter  and  had  cut  through  the 
shank  of  the  spear,  close  to  the  guard,  in  a  trice. 
"  Fight  equal,  my  friend,  and  you  will  fight 
more  at  ease  in  the  long  run,"  was  all  he  said. 
Galors  let  fly  an  oath  at  him,  furious.  He  drew 
his  great  sword  and  cut  at  him  with  all  his  force ; 
Prosper  parried  and  let  out  at  his  shoulder.  He 
got  in  between  the  armour  plates;  first  blow 
went  to  him.  This  did  not  improve  Galors' 
temper   or   mend    his   fighting.      There  was   a 


86  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

sharp  rally  in  the  brook,  some  shrewd  knocks 
passed.  The  lighter  man  and  horse  had  all  the 
advantage ;  Galors  never  reached  his  enemy 
fairly.  He  set  himself  to  draw  Prosper  out  of 
the  slush  of  mud  and  water,  and  once  on  firmer 
ground  went  more  warily  to  work.  Then  a 
chance  blow  from  Prosper  struck  his  horse  on 
the  crest  and  went  deep.  The  beast  stumbled 
and  fell  with  his  rider  upon  him :  both  lay  still. 

"  A  broken  neck,"  thought  Prosper,  cursing 
his  luck.  Galors  never  moved.  "What  an 
impassive  rogue  it  is ! "  Prosper  cried,  with  ail 
his  anger  clean  gone  from  him.  He  dismounted 
and  went  to  where  his  man  lay,  threw  his  sword 
on  the  grass  beside  him,  and  proceeded  to  unlace 
Galors'  hauberk.  Galors  sprang  up  and  sent 
Prosper  flying;  he  set  his  heel  on  the  sword 
blade  and  broke  it  short.  Then  he  turned  his 
own  upon  the  unarmed  man.  "  By  God,  the 
man  is  for  a  murder !  "  Prosper  grew  white  with 
a  cold  rage :  he  was  on  his  feet,  the  flame  of  his 
anger  licked  up  his  poverty;  Galors  had  little 
chance.  Prosper  made  a  quick  rush  and  drove 
at  the  monk  with  his  shield  arm,  using  the  shield 
like  an  axe;  he  broke  down  his  guard,  got  at 
close  quarters,  dropt  his  shield  and  caught 
Galors  under  the  arms.  They  sw^ayed  and 
rocked  together  like  storm-driven  trees,  Prosper 
transported  with  his  new-lighted  rage,  Galors 
struggling  to  justify  his  treachery  by  its  only 
excuse.  Below  his  armpits  he  felt  Prosper's 
grip  upon  him ;  he  was  encumbered  with  shield 
and  sword,  both  useless — the  sword,  in  fact, 
sawing  the  air.     Then  they  fell  together,  Prosper 


THE    SALLY  AT   DAWN  87 

above  ;  and  that  was  the  end  of  the  bout.  Prosper 
slipped  out  his  poniard  and  drove  it  in  between 
the  joints  of  the  gorget.  Then  he  got  up, 
breathing  hard,  and  looked  at  his  enemy  as  he 
lay  jerking  on  the  grass,  and  at  the  bright  stream 
coming  from  his  neck. 

"The  price  of  treachery  is  heavy,"  said  he. 
"  I  ought  to  kill  him.  And  there  are  villainies 
behind  that  to  be  reckoned  with,  to  say  nothing 
of  all  the  villainies  to  do  when  that  hole  shall  be 
stuffed.  The  shield — ah,  the  shield  !  No,  monk, 
on  second  thoughts,  I  will  not  kill  you  yet.  It 
would  be  dealing  as  you  dealt,  it  would  prevent 
our  meeting  again ;  it  would  cut  me  off  all  chance 
of  learning  the  history  of  your  arms.  White 
wicket-gates!  Where,  under  heaven's  eye,  have 
I  been  brought  up  against  three  white  wicket- 
gates  ?  Ha !  there  is  a  motto  too."  Evtra  per 
me,  he  read,  and  was  no  wiser.  "This  man  and 
I  will  meet  again,"  he  said.  "  Meantime  I  will 
remember  Entra  per  me."  He  raised  his  voice 
to  call  to  Isoult — "  Come,  child ;  the  way  is 
clear  enough." 

She  came  over  the  brook  at  once,  alighted  on 
the  further  side,  and  came  creeping  up  to  her 
husband  to  kneel  before  him  as  once  before  that 
morning ;  but  he  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder 
to  stay  her.  "  Come,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  no 
more  ceremony  between  you  and  me,  my  dear. 
Rather  let  us  get  forward  out  of  the  reach  of 
hue-and-cry.  For  when  the  foresters  find  him 
that  will  be  the  next  move  in  the  game."  To 
Galors  he  turned  with  a  "By  your  leave,  my 
friend,"   and  took   his  sword ;    then  having  put 


88  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Isoult  upon  her  donkey  and  mounted  his  own 
beast,  he  led  the  way  up  the  ridge  wondering 
where  they  had  best  turn  to  avoid  hue-and-cry. 
Isoult,  who  guessed  his  thoughts,  told  him  of  the 
minster  at  Gracedieu. 

Sanctuary  attached  to  the  Church,  she  said, 
as  all  the  woodlanders  knew. 

"  Excellent  indeed,"  Prosper  cried ;  "  that 
jumps  with  what  I  had  determined  on  before. 
Moreover,  I  suppose  that  Gracedieu  is  outside 
the  Malbank  fee  ? " 

"  Yes,  lord,  it  is  far  beyond  that." 

"  And  how  far  is  it  to  Gracedieu  ? " 

"  It  is  the  journey  of  two  days  and  nights,  my 
lord." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  then  those  nights  we  must 
sleep  in  the  forest.  How  will  that  suit  you, 
child  ? " 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  breathed  the  girl,  "  I  have 
very  often  slept  there." 

"And  what  shall  we  do  for  food,  Isoult.^" 

"I  will  provide  for  that,  my  lord." 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    BLOOD-CHASE    AxVD    THE    LOVE-CHASE 

It  was  by  this  time  high  noon,  hot  and  still. 
Having  chmbed  the  ridge,  they  found  themselves 
at  the  edge  of  a  dense  beech-wood,  to  which  there 
appeared  no  end.  From  their  vantage-ground 
they  could  see  that  the  land  sloped  very  gradually 
away  into  the  distance ;  upon  it  the  giant  trees 
stood  like  pillars  of  a  church,  whose  floor  was 
brown  with  the  waste  and  litter  of  a  hundred  years. 
Long  alleys  of  shade  stretched  out  on  all  sides  of 
them  into  the  dark  unknown  of  Mid-Morgraunt ; 
there  seemed  either  no  way  or  countless  ways 
before  them,  and  one  as  good  as  the  other.  They 
rested  themselves  in  sheer  bewilderment,  ate  of 
the  bread  and  apples  which  Isoult  had  brought 
with  her;  then  Prosper  found  out  how  tired  he 
was. 

"Wife,"  said  he,  "if  all  the  devils  in  Christen- 
dom were  after  me  it  would  not  keep  me  awake. 
I  must  sleep  for  half-an-hour." 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  my  lord ;  I  will  take  the  watch," 
said  Isoult,  longing  to  serve  him. 

He  unlaced  his  helm  and  body-armour  without 
more  ado,  and  laid  his  head  in  the  girl's  lap. 
She  had  very  cool  and  soft  hands,  and  now  she 


po  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

put  one  of  them  upon  his  forehead  for  a  solace, 
peering  down  nervously  to  see  how  he  would 
take  such  daring  from  his  servant.  What  she 
saw  comforted  her  not  a  little,  indeed  she  thought 
herself  like  to  die  of  joy.  He  wondered  again 
that  such  delicate  little  hands  should  have  been 
reared  on  Spurnt  Heath,  and  endured  the  service 
of  the  lowest ;  it  was  a  half-comical  content  that 
made  him  send  her  a  smiling  acknowledgment ; 
but  she  took  it  for  a  friendly  message  between 
them,  and  though  the  laughter  in  his  eyes 
brought  a  mist  over  hers  she  was  content. 
Prosper  dropped  asleep.  Through  the  soft  veil 
of  her  happiness  she  watched  him  patiently  and 
still  as  a  mouse.  She  was  serving  him  at  last ; 
she  could  dare  look  tenderly  at  him  when  he  was 
asleep — and  she  did.  Something  of  the  mother, 
something  of  the  manumitted  slave,  something  of 
the  dumb  creature  brought  up  against  a  crisis 
which  only  speech  can  make  tolerable, — something 
of  these  three  lay  in  her  wet  eyes ;  she  wanted 
ineffably  more,  but  she  was  happy  (she  thought). 
She  was  not  apt  to  look  further  than  this,  that 
she  was  in  love,  and  suffered  to  serve  her  master. 
The  dull  torment  of  her  life  past,  the  doubts  or 
despair  which  might  beset  and  perplex  her  life  to 
come,  were  all  blurred  and  stilled  by  this  boon  of 
service,  as  a  rosy  mist  makes  beautiful  the  space 
of  time  between  a  day  of  storms  and  a  dripping 
night.  When  the  roaring  of  the  wind  dies  down 
and  the  sun  rays  out  in  a  clear  pool  of  heaven, 
men  have  ease  and  forget  their  buffetings ;  they 
walk  abroad  to  bathe  their  vexed  souls  in  the 
evening  calms.     So  now  Isoult  la  Desirous,  with 


THE   BLOOD-CHASE    AND    LOVE-CHASE     91 

no  soul  to  speak  of,  bathed  her  quickened  in- 
stincts. She  felt  at  peace  with  a  world  which 
had  used  her  but  ill  so  long  as  she  was  in  touch 
with  all  that  was  noble  in  it.  This  glorious 
youth,  this  almost  god,  suffered  her  to  touch  his 
brow,  to  look  at  him,  to  throne  his  head,  to  adore 
him.  Oh,  wonderful !  And  as  tears  are  never 
far  from  a  girl's  eyes,  and  never  slow  to  answer 
the  messages  of  her  heart,  so  hers  flowed  freely 
and  quietly  as  from  a  brimming  well ;  nor  did 
she  check  them  or  wish  them  away,  but  let  them 
fall  where  they  would  until  they  encroached  upon 
the  privileged  hand.  Lese  majeste !  She  threw 
her  head  back  and  shook  them  from  her;  she 
was  more  guarded  how  she  did  after  that. 

Then  she  heard  something  over  the  valley 
below  which  gave  her  heart-beats  a  new  tune. 
A  great  ado  down  there,  horses,  dogs,  voices  of 
men  shouting  for  more.  She  guessed  in  a  moment 
that  the  foresters  had  come  upon  the  body  of 
Galors,  knew  that  hue-and-cry  was  now  only  a 
question  of  hours,  and  all  her  joys  at  an  end. 
She  took  her  hand  from  Prosper's  forehead,  and 
he  awoke  then  and  there,  and  smiled  up  at  her. 

"  Lord,"  said  she,  "  it  is  time  for  us  to  be 
going,  for  they  hav^e  found  Dom  Galors ;  and  at 
the  Abbey  they  have  many  slot-hounds." 

"  Good,  my  child,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  ready 
for  anything  in  the  world.     Let  us  go." 

He  got  up  instantly  and  armed  himself;  they 
mounted  their  animals  and  plunged  into  the  great 
shade  of  the  beeches.  All  the  steering  they  could 
do  now  was  by  such  hints  of  the  sun  as  they 
could  glean  here  and  there.     Prosper  by  himself 


ga  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

would  have  been  fogged  in  a  mile,  but  Isoult 
had  not  lived  her  fifteen  years  of  wild  life  for 
nothing :  she  had  the  fox's  instinct  for  an  earth, 
and  the  hare's  for  doubling  on  a  trail.  The  woods 
spoke  to  her  as  they  spoke  to  each  other,  as  they 
spoke  to  the  beasts,  or  the  beasts  among  them- 
selves. What  indeed  was  this  poor  little  doubtful 
wretch  but  one  of  those,  with  a  stray  itching  to 
be  more  ?  Soul  or  none,  she  had  an  instinct 
which  Prosper  discovered  and  learned  to  trust. 
For  the  rest  of  the  day  she  tacitly  led  the  knight- 
at-arms  in  the  way  he  should  go. 

But  with  all  her  help  they  made  a  slow  pace. 
The  forest  grew  more  and  more  dense;  there 
seemed  no  opening,  no  prospect  of  an  opening. 
She  knew  what  must  be  in  store  for  them  if  the 
Abbot  had  uncoupled  his  bloodhounds,  so  she 
strained  every  nerve  in  her  young  body,  listened 
to  every  murmur  or  swish  of  the  trees,  every  one 
of  the  innumerable,  inexplicable  noises  a  great 
wood  gives  forth.  She  suffered,  indeed,  intensely  ; 
yet  Prosper  never  knew  it.  He  played  upon  her, 
quite  unconsciously,  by  wondering  over  the 
difficulties  of  the  road,  the  slowness  of  their 
going,  the  probable  speed  of  the  Abbot's  dogs 
and  foresters,  and  so  on.  Her  meekness  and 
cheerful  diligence  delighted  him.  The  nuns  of 
Gracedieu,  he  promised  himself,  should  know 
what  a  hkely  novice  he  was  bringing  them.  He 
should  miss  her,  pardieu  !  after  two  or  three  days' 
companionship.     So  they  struggled  on. 

Towards  the  time  of  dusk,  which  was  very 
soon  in  that  gloomy  solitude,  Isoult  heard  in  the 
far  distance  the  baying  of  the  dogs,  and  began  to 


THE    BLOOD-CHASE  AND    LOVE-CHASE      93 

tremble,  knowing  too  well  what  all  that  meant. 
Yet  she  said  nothing.  Prosper  rode  on,  singing 
softly  to  himself  as  his  custom  was,  his  head 
carried  high,  his  light  and  alert  look  taking  in 
every  dark  ambush  as  a  thing  to  be  conquered — 
very  lordly  to  look  upon.  The  girl,  who  had 
never  seen  his  like,  adored  him,  thought  him  a 
god ;  the  fact  was,  she  had  no  other.  Therefore, 
as  one  does  not  lightly  warn  the  blessed  gods,  she 
rode  silent  but  quaking  by  his  side,  with  her  ears 
still  on  the  strain  for  the  coming  danger,  and  all 
her  mind  set  on  the  fear  that  Prosper  would  find 
out.  Above  all  she  heard  a  sound  which  shocked 
her  more,  her  own  heart  knocking  at  her  side. 

Then  at  last  Prosper  reined  up,  listening  too. 
"  Hush  !  "  he  said,  "  what  is  that  ?  " 

This  was  a  new  sound,  more  hasty  and  mur- 
murous than  any  girl's  heart,  and  much  more 
dreadful  than  the  music  of  the  still  distant  hounds ; 
it  was  very  near,  a  rushing  and  pattering  sound, 
as  of  countless  beasts  running.      Isoult  knew  it, 

"Wolves!"  she  said;  "let  be,  there  is  no 
harm  from  them  save  in  the  winter." 

As  she  spoke  a  grey  bitch-wolf  came  trotting 
through  the  trees,  swiftly  but  in  pain,  and  breath- 
ing very  short.  She  was  covered  with  slaver  and 
red  foam,  her  tongue  lolled  out  at  the  side  of  her 
mouth  long  and  loose,  she  let  blood  freely  from 
a  wound  in  the  throat,  and  one  of  her  ears  was 
torn  and  bleeding.  She  looked  neither  right  nor 
left,  did  not  stay  to  smell  at  the  scent  of  the 
horse ;  all  her  pains  were  spent  to  keep  running. 
She  broke  now  and  again  into  a  rickety  canter, 
but  for  the  most  part  trotted  straight  forward. 


94  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

with  many  a  stumble  and  missed  step,  all  picked 
up  with  indescribable  feverish  diligence ;  and  as 
she  went  her  blood  flowed,  and  her  panting  kept 
pace  with  her  padding  feet.  So  she  came  and 
so  went,  hunted  by  what  followed  close  upon  her ; 
the  murmur  of  the  host,  the  host  itself — dogs 
and  bitches  in  a  pack,  making  great  pace.  They 
came  on  at  a  gallop,  a  sea  of  wolves  that  surged 
restlessly,  yet  were  one  rolling  tide.  Here  and 
there  a  grinning  head  cast  up  suddenly  out  of 
the  press  seemed  like  the  broken  crest  of  some 
hastier  wave  impatient  with  its  fellows ;  so  they 
snarled,  jostled,  and  snapped  at  each  other.  Then 
one,  playing  choragus,  would  break  into  a  howl, 
and  there  would  be  a  long  anthem  of  howls  until 
the  forest  rang  with  the  terror ;  but  the  haste,  tlie 
panting  and  the  padding  of  feet  were  the  most 
dreadful,  because  incessant ;  the  thrust  head  would 
be  whelmed,  the  sharp  voice  drowned  in  howls ; 
the  grey  tide  and  the  lapping  of  it  never  stopped. 

The  fugitives  watched  this  chase,  in  which  they 
might  have  read  a  parable  of  their  own  affair, 
sweep  past  them  like  a  bad  dream.  In  the  dead 
hush  that  followed  they  heard  what  was  a  good 
deal  more  significant  for  them,  the  baying  of  the 
dogs. 

"  What  now  ?  "  said  Prosper  to  himself,  "  there 
are  the  dogs.  If  I  make  haste  they  can  make 
it  better;  if  I  stay,  how  on  earth  shall  I  keep  my 
convoy  out  of  their  teeth  ?  " 

It  was  too  late  to  wonder ;  even  at  that  moment 
Isoult  gasped  and  caught  at  his  arm,  leaning  from 
her  saddle  to  cling  to  him  as  she  had  done  once 
before.     But  this  was  a  danger  not  to  be  shamed 


THE    BLOOD-CHASE   AND    LOVE-CHASE      95 

away  by  a  man  armed.  He  followed  her  look, 
and  saw  the  first  dog  come  on  with  his  nose  to 
the  ground.  A  thought  struck  him.  "Wait," 
he  said. 

Sure  enough,  the  great  dog  hit  on  the  line  of 
the  wolves  and  got  the  blood  in  his  nostrils.  He 
was  puzzled,  his  tail  went  like  a  flag  in  a  gale  as 
he  nosed  it  out. 

Prosper  watched  him  keenly,  it  was  touch- 
and-go,  but  never  troubled  his  breath.  "  Take 
your  choice,  friend,"  he  said.  The  dog  beat  to 
and  fro  for  some  long  minutes.  He  could  not 
deny  himself — he  followed  the  wolves. 

"  That  love-chase  is  like  to  be  our  salvation," 
said  Prosper.  "  Wait  now.  Here  are  some  more 
of  the  Abbot's  friends."  It  was  as  good  as  a  play 
to  him — a  hunter ;  but  to  Isoult,  the  wild  little 
outcast,  it  was  deadly  work.  Like  all  her  class, 
she  held  dogs  in  more  fear  than  their  masters. 
You  may  cajole  a  man  ;  to  a  dog  the  very  attempt 
at  it  is  a  damning  proof  against  you. 

As  Prosper  had  predicted,  the  dogs,  coming 
on  by  twos  and  threes,  got  entangled  in  the  cross- 
trail.  They  hesitated  over  it,  circled  about  it  as 
the  first  had  done,  and  like  him  they  followed  the 
hotter  and  fresher  scent.  One,  however,  in  a 
mighty  hurry,  ran  clean  through  it,  and  singled 
out  his  own  again.  They  saw  him  coming;  in 
his  time  he  saw  them.  He  stopped,  threw  up 
his  head,  and  bayed  a  succession  of  deep  bell- 
notes  at  them,  enough  to  wake  the  dead. 

"  I  must  deal  with  this  beast,"  Prosper  said. 
"  Leave  me  to  manage  him,  and  stay  you  here." 
He  dismounted,  ungirt  his  sword,  which  he  gave 


9<5  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

to  Isoult  to  hold,  then  began  to  run  through  the 
wood  as  if  he  was  afraid.  This  brought  the  dog 
on  furiously ;  in  fifty  yards  he  was  up  with  his 
quarry.  Prosper  went  on  running;  the  dog 
chose  his  time,  and  sprang  for  his  throat.  Prosper, 
who  had  been  waiting  for  this,  ducked  at  the 
same  minute ;  his  dagger  was  in  his  hand.  He 
struck  upwards  at  the  dog  as  he  rose,  and  ripped 
his  belly  open.  "  That  was  your  last  jump,  my 
friend,"  quoth  he,  "  but  I  hope  there  are  no  more 
of  you.     It  is  a  game  that  not  always  answers." 

It  was  while  he  was  away  upon  this  errand  that 
Isoult  thought  she  saw  a  tall  woman  in  a  black 
cloak  half-hidden  behind  a  tree.  The  woman, 
she  could  have  sworn,  stood  there  in  the  dusk 
looking  fixedly  at  her;  it  was  too  dark  to  dis- 
tinguish anything  but  the  white  disk  of  a  face 
and  the  black  mass  she  made  in  her  cloak,  yet 
there  was  that  about  her,  some  rigid  aspect  of 
attention,  which  frightened  the  girl.  She  turned 
her  head  for  a  moment  to  see  Prosper  homing, 
and  when  she  looked  again  into  the  trees  there 
was  certainly  no  woman.  She  thought  she  must 
have  fancied  it  all,  and  dismissed  the  thought 
without  saying  anything  to  Prosper.  They  took 
up  their  journey  again,  safe  from  dogs  for  the 
time.  The  music  had  died  away  in  the  distance ; 
they  knew  that  if  the  wolf-pack  were  caught 
there  would  be  work  enough  for  more  hounds 
than  the  Abbey  could  furnish.  Then  it  grew 
dark,  and  Isoult  weary  and  heavy  with  sleep. 
She  swayed  in  her  saddle. 

"  Ah,"  said  Prosper,  "  we  will  stay  here.     You 
shall  sleep  while  I  keep  watch." 


THE    BLOOD-CHASE    AND    LOVE-CHASE      97 

"  It  is  very  still,  my  lord.  Wilt  thou  not  let 
me  watch  for  a  little  ? "  she  asked. 

Prosper  laughed.  "There  are  many  things  a 
man's  wife  can  do  for  him,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
"  but  she  cannot  fight  dogs  or  men.  And  she 
cannot  sleep  with  one  eye  open.  Eat  what  you 
have,  and  then  shut  your  pair  of  eyes.  You  are 
not  afraid  for  me  ?  " 

Isoult  looked  at  him  quickly.  Then  she  said — 
"  My  lord  is ,"  and  stopped  confused. 

"  What  is  thy  lord,  my  girl  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  He  is  good  to  his  servant,"  she  whispered  in 
her  low  thrilled  voice. 

They  ate  what  bread  was  left,  and  drank  a  little 
water.  Before  all  was  finished  Isoult  was  nodding. 
Prosper  bestirred  himself  to  do  the  best  he  could 
for  her ;  he  collected  a  heap  of  dried  leaves,  laid 
his  cloak  upon  them,  and  picked  up  Isoult  to 
lay  her  upon  the  cloak.  His  arms  about  her 
woke  her  up.  Scarce  knowing  what  she  did, 
dreaming  possibly  of  her  mother,  she  put  up  her 
face  towards  his;  but  if  Prosper  noticed  it,  no 
errant  mercy  from  him  sent  her  to  bed  comforted. 
He  put  her  down,  covered  her  about  with  the 
cloak,  and  patted  her  shoulder  with  an  easy — 
"Good-night,  my  lass,"  This  was  cold  cheer  to 
the  poor  girl,  who  had  to  be  content  with  his 
ministry  of  the  cloak.  It  was  too  dark  to  tell  if 
he  was  looking  at  her  as  he  stooped ;  and  ah, 
heavens  !  why  should  he  look  at  her  r  The  dark 
closed  round  his  form,  stiffly  erect,  sitting  on  the 
root  of  the  great  tree  which  made  a  tent  for  them 
ooth,  and  then  it  claimed  her  soul.  She  lost 
her  trouble  in  sleep ;  he  kept  the  watch  all  night. 

H 


CHAPTER   X 

FOREST    ALMS 

Towards  the  grey  of  the  morning,  seeing  that 
the  whole  forest  was  at  peace,  with  no  sign  of 
dogs  or  men  all  that  night,  and  now  even  a  rest 
from  the  far  howling  of  the  wolves,  Prosper's  head 
dropt  to  his  breast.  In  a  few  seconds  he  slept 
profoundly.  Isoult  awoke  and  saw  that  he  slept ; 
she  lay  watching  him,  longing  but  not  daring. 
When  she  saw  that  he  looked  blue  and  pinched 
about  the  cheekbones,  that  his  cheeks  were  yellow 
where  they  should  be  red,  and  grey  where  they 
had  been  white,  she  knew  he  was  cold  ;  and  her 
humbleness  was  not  proof  against  this  justification 
of  her  desires.  She  crept  out  of  her  snug  nest, 
crawled  towards  her  lord  and  felt  his  hands ;  they 
were  ice.  "  Asleep  he  is  mine,"  she  thought. 
She  picked  up  the  cloak,  then  crept  again  towards 
him,  seated  herself  behind  and  a  little  above  him, 
threw  the  cloak  over  both  and  snuggled  it  well  in. 
She  put  her  arms  about  him  and  drew  him  close 
to  her  bosom.  His  head  fell  back  at  her  gentle 
constraint ;  so  he  lay  like  a  child  at  the  breast. 
The  mother  in  her  was  wild  and  throbbing. 
Stooped  over  him  she  pored  into  his  face.  A 
divine  pity,  a  divine  sense  of  the  power  of  life 


FOREST   ALMS  99 

over  death,  of  waking  over  sleep,  drew  her  lower 
and  nearer.  She  kissed  his  face — the  lids  of  his 
eyes,  his  forehead  and  cheeks.  Like  an  un- 
watched  bird  she  foraged  at  will,  like  a  hardy 
sailor  touched  at  every  port  but  one.  His  mouth 
was  too  much  his  own,  too  firm ;  it  kept  too 
much  of  his  sovereignty  absolute.  Otherwise  she 
was  free  to  roam  ;  and  she  roamed,  very  much  to 
his  material  advantage,  since  the  love  that  made 
her  rosy  to  the  finger-tips,  in  time  warmed  him 
also.     He  slept  long  in  her  arms. 

She  began  to  be  very  hungry. 

"  He  too  will  be  hungry  when  he  wakes,"  she 
thought ;  "  what  shall  I  do  ?  We  have  nothing  to 
eat."  She  looked  down  wistfully  at  his  head 
where  it  lay  pillowed.  "  What  would  I  not  give 
him  of  mine  ?  "  The  thought  flooded  her.  But 
what  could  she  do  ? 

She  heard  the  pattering  of  dry  leaves,  the 
crackle  of  dry  twigs  snapt,  and  looking  up,  saw  a 
herd  of  deer  feeding  in  a  glade  not  very  far  off. 

Idly  as  she  watched  them,  it  came  home  to 
her  that  there  were  hinds  among  them  with  calves. 
One  she  noticed  in  particular  fted  a  litde  apart, 
having  two  calves  near  her  which  had  just  begun 
to  nibble  a  little  grass.  Vaguely  wondering  still 
over  her  plight,  she  pictured  her  days  of  shep- 
herding in  the  downs  where  food  had  often  failed 
her,  and  the  ewes  perforce  mothered  another  lamb. 
That  hind's  udder  was  full  of  milk  :  a  sudden 
thought  ran  like  wine  through  her  blood.  She 
slid  from  Prosper,  got  up  very  softly,  took  her 
cup,  and  went  towards  the  browsing  deer.  The 
hind  looked   up  (like  ail  the  herd)  but  did  not 


loo  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Start  nor  run.  A  brief  gaze  satisfied  it  that  here 
was  no  enemy,  neither  a  stranger  to  the  forest 
walks;  it  fell-to  again,  and  suffered  Isoult  to 
come  quite  close,  even  to  lay  her  hand  upon  its 
neck.  Then  she  stood  for  a  while  stroking  the 
red  hind,  while  all  the  herd  watched  her. 

She  knelt  before  the  beast,  clasping  both  arms 
about  its  neck ;  she  fondled  it  with  her  face,  as  if 
asking  the  boon  she  would  have.  Some  message 
passed  between  them,  some  assurance,  for  she  let 
go  of  the  hind's  neck  and  crawled  on  hands  and 
knees  towards  the  udder.  The  deer  never  moved, 
though  it  turned  its  head  to  watch  her.  She  took 
the  teat  in  her  mouth,  sucked  and  drew  milk. 
The  herd  stood  all  about  her  motionless ;  the  hind 
nozzled  her  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  its  own 
calves  ;  so  she  was  filled. 

Next  she  had  to  fill  her  cup.  This  was  much 
more  difficult.  The  hind  must  be  soothed  and 
fondled  again,  there  must  be  no  shock  on  either 
side.  She  started  the  flow  with  her  mouth  ;  then 
she  knelt  against  the  animal  with  her  head  pressed 
to  its  side,  took  the  teat  in  her  hand  and  suc- 
ceeded. She  filled  the  cup  with  Prosper's  break- 
fast. She  got  up,  kissed  the  hind  between  the 
eyes,  stroked  its  neck  many  times,  and  went  tiptoe 
back  to  her  lord  and  master.  She  found  him 
still  sound  asleep,  so  sat  quietly  watching  him  till 
he  should  wake,  with  the  cup  held  against  her 
heart  to  keep  it  warm. 

Broad  daylight  and  a  chance  beam  of  sun 
through  the  trees  woke  him  at  last.  It  would  be 
about  seven  o'clock.  He  stretched  portentously, 
and  sat  up  to  look  about  him  ;  so  he  encountered 


FOREST  ALMS  loi 

her  tender  eyes  before  she  had  been  able  to  subdue 
their  hght. 

"  Good-morning,  Isoult,"  said  he.  "  Have  I 
been  long  asleep  ?  " 

"  A  few  hours  only,  lord." 

"  I  am  hungry.     I  must  eat  something." 

"Lord,  I  have  milk  for  thee." 

He  took  the  cup  she  tendered,  looking  at  her. 

"  Drink  first,  my  child,"  he  said. 

"  Lord,  I  have  drunk  already." 

He  drained  the  cup  without  further  ado. 

"  Good  milk,"  he  said  when  he  had  done.  He 
took  these  things,  you  see,  very  much  as  they 
came. 

His  next  act  was  to  kneel  face  to  the  sun  and 
begin  his  prayers.  Something  made  him  stop ; 
he  turned  him  to  his  wdfe. 

"  Hast  thou  said  thy  prayers,  Isoult  ?  " 

"  No,  lord,"  said  she,  reddening. 

"  Come  then  and  pray  with  me.  It  is  a  good 
custom." 

She  obeyed  him  so  far  as  to  kneel  down  by  his 
side.  He  began  again.  She  had  nothing  to  say, 
so  he  stopped  again. 

"  Dost  thou  forget  thy  prayers  since  thou  art  a 
wife,  Isoult  ?  " 

"  Lord,  I  know  none,"  said  she  with  a  shameful 
face, 

"  Thou  art  not  a  Christian  then  ?  " 

"  If  a  Christian  prays,  my  lord,  I  am  not  a 
Christian." 

"  But  thou  hast  been  baptized  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lord." 

"  How  knowest  thou  ?  " 


I02  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

"  The  Lord  Abbot  once  reproached  me  before 
my  parents  that  I  had  disgraced  Holy  Baptism  ; 
and  my  father  beat  me  soundly  for  it,  saying  that 
of  all  his  afflictions  that  was  the  hardest  to  bear. 
This  he  did  in  the  presence  of  the  Lord  Abbot 
himself.  Therefore  I  know  that  I  have  been 
beaten  for  the  sake  of  my  baptism." 

Prosper  was  satisfied. 

"  It  is  enough,  Isoult.  Thou  art  certainly  a 
Christian.  Nevertheless,  such  an  one  should  pray 
(and  women  as  well  as  men),  even  though  it  may 
very  well  be  that  he  knows  not  what  he  is  saying. 
Prayer  is  a  great  mystery,  look  you.  Yet  this  I 
know,  that  it  is  also  a  great  comfort.  P'or  re- 
member that  if  a  Christian  prays — knowing  or 
not  knowing  the  meaning  of  the  act  and  the 
upshot  of  it — he -is  very  sure  it  is  acceptable  to 
Saint  Mary,  and  through  her  to  God  Almighty 
Himself.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  he  is  embold- 
ened thereafter  to  add  certain  impertinences  and 
urgent  desires  of  his  own,  which  Saint  Mary  is 
good  enough  to  hear,  and  by  her  intercession  as 
often  as  not  to  win  to  be  accepted.  Some  add  a 
word  or  two  to  their  saint  or  guardian,  others 
invoke  all  the  saints  in  a  body ;  but  it  is  idle  to 
do  one  or  any  of  these  things  without  you  have 
prayed  first.  So  you  must  by  all  means  learn  to 
pray.  Sit  down  by  me  here  and  I  will  teach 
you. 

She  sat  as  close  to  him  as  she  dared  on  the 
trunk  of  the  beech,  while  he  taught  her  to  say 
afcer  him,  "  Pater  noster  qui  es  in  coelis,''  and 
"  ^ve  Mctj-ia  gratia  pleyiay  In  this  way  they 
spent  a  full  hour  or  more,  going  over  and  over 


FOREST   ALMS  103 

the  Latin  words  till  she  was  as  perfect  as  he.  In 
the  stress  of  the  task,  which  interested  Prosper 
vastly,  their  hands  met  more  than  once ;  finally 
Prosper's  settled  down  over  hers  and  held  it.  In 
time  he  caught  the  other.  Isoult's  heart  beat 
wildly ;  she  had  never  been  so  happy.  When 
she  had  all  the  words  pat  they  knelt  down  and 
prayed  together,  with  the  best  results. 

"  Now,  child,"  said  Prosper,  "  you  may  add 
what  you  choose  of  your  own  accord  ;  and  be 
sure  that  our  Lady  will  hear  you.  It  is  a  great 
merit  to  be  sure  of  this.  The  greater  the  Christian 
the  surer  he  is.  I  also  will  make  my  petition. 
You  have  no  patron  r  " 

"  No,  lord,  I  have  never  heard  of  such  an  one." 

"  I  recommend  you  to  Saint  Isidore.  His  name 
is  the  nearest  to  yours  that  I  can  remember.  For 
the  rest,  he  is  very  strong.  Ask,  then,  what  you 
will  now,  my  child,  and  doubt  nothing." 

Isoult  bent  her  head  and  shut  her  eyes  for  the 
great  essay.  What  could  she  say  ?  what  did  she 
want  ?  She  was  kneeling  by  Prosper's  side,  his 
hand  held  hers  a  happy  prisoner,  "Mary,  let 
him  take  me  !  Saint  Isidore,  let  him  take  me — 
all,  all,  all ! "  This  was  what  she  panted  to 
Heaven. 

Prosper  prayed,  "  My  Lady,  I  beseech  thee  a 
good  ending  to  this  adventure  which  I  have 
undertaken  lightly,  it  may  be,  but  with  an  honest 
heart.  Grant  also  a  good  and  honourable  end  to 
myself,  and  to  this  my  wife,  who  is  a  Christian 
without  knowing  it,  and  by  the  help  of  thy  serv- 
ants at  Gracedieu  shall  be  a  better.  Per  Christum 
dominum,  etc." 


104-  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Then  he  crossed  himself,  and  taught  Isoult  to 
do  the  same,  and  the  great  value  of  the  exercise. 

'*  Now,  child,"  he  said,  "  I  have  done  thee  a 
better  turn  in  teaching  thee  to  pray  and  sign  thy- 
self meekly  and  devoutly  than  ever  I  did  by  wed- 
ding thee  in  the  cottage.  Thy  soul,  my  dear,  thy 
soul  is  worth  a  hundred  times  thy  pretty  person. 
Saint  Bernard,  I  understand,  says,  '  My  son,  think, 
of  the  worms  when  thou  art  disposed  to  cherish 
thyself  in  a  looking-glass.'  It  is  to  go  far.  Saint 
Bernard  was  a  monk,  and  it  is  a  monk's  way  to 
think  of  nastiness ;  but  he  was  right  in  the  main. 
Your  soul  is  the  chief  part  of  you.  Now  to  finish: 
when  we  are  at  Gracedieu  thou  shalt  confess  and 
go  to  Mass.  Then  thou  wilt  be  as  good  a  Christian 
as  I  am." 

"  Lord,  is  tha^:  all  I  must  do  ? "  she  asked 
meekly. 

Prosper   grew    grave.     He   put  his  hand   on 
the  girl's  shoulder,  as  he  said — 

"  Deal  justly,  live  cleanly,  breathe  sweet  breath. 
Praise  God  in  thy  heart  when  He  is  kind,  bow 
thy  head  and  knees  when  He  is  angry  ;  look  for 
Him  to  be  near  thee  at  all  times.  Do  this,  and 
beyond  it  trust  thy  heart." 

"  Lord,  I  will  do  it." 

"Thou  art  a  good  child,  Isoult.  I  am  pleased 
with  thee,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her.  She  turned 
her  face  lest  he  should  see  that  she  was  crying. 
Soon  afterwards  they  set  off  towards  Gracedieu. 

The  day,  the  night,  the  next  morning  found 
them  on  the  journey.  They  had  to  travel 
slowly,  could  indeed  have  made  better  pace  on 
foot ;  for  Mid-Morgraunt  is  a  tangle  of  brush 


FOREST   ALMS 


105 


and  undergrowth,  and  the  swamps  (which  are 
many  and  of  unknown  depth)  have  all  to  be 
circled. 

There  seemed,  however,  to  be  no  further 
pursuit ;  they  could  go  at  their  ease,  for  they 
met  nobody.  On  the  other  hand,  they  met  with 
no  food  more  solid  than  milk.  There  were  deer 
in  plenty.  Isoult  was  able  to  feed  herself  and  her 
husband,  and  keep  both  from  exhaustion,  with- 
out suspicion  from  him  or  much  cost  to  herself. 
The  second  time  of  doing  it,  it  is  true,  she  went 
trembhngly  to  work,  and  was  Uke  to  bungle  it. 
What  one  may  do  on  the  flood  one  may  easily 
miss  on  the  ebb;  moreover,  it  was  night-time, 
she  was  tired,  and  not  sure  of  herself  Neverthe- 
less, she  was  fed,  and  Prosper  was  fed.  Next 
morning  she  was  as  cool  as  you  choose,  singled 
out  her  hind  as  she  walked  into  the  herd,  went 
on  all  fours  and  sucked  like  a  calf.  She  grew 
nice,  indeed.  The  beast  she  tried  first  had  rough 
milk ;  this  would  do  for  her  well  enough,  but  my 
lord  must  have  of  the  best.  She  chose  another 
with  great  care,  played  milk- maid  to  her,  and 
drew  Prosper  full  measure. 

He,  her  sovereign,  took  every  event  with  equal 
mind,  and  placidly,  whether  it  was  a  wedding,  a 
fight,  or  a  miraculous  fountain  of  milk.  If  she 
had  drawn  his  food  from  herself  he  would  not 
have  questioned  her;  if  it  had  been  her  last 
ounce  of  life  he  would  not  have  thanked  her  the 
more.  You  cannot  blame  him  for  this.  To 
begin  with,  he  knew  nothing  of  her  or  her 
doings  when  he  was  asleep  or  on  the  watch. 
And    a   young    man   is  a    prodigal    always,    of 


io6  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

another's  goods  besides  his  own,  while  a  young 
woman  is  his  banker,  never  so  rich  as  when  he 
overdraws.  Deprived  of  him  by  her  own  act,  his 
wife  in  name,  she  was  his  servant  in  reality.  His 
servant  and,  just  now,  his  sumpter-beast.  Very 
wistfully  she  served  him,  but  very  diligently,  only 
asking  that  he  should  neither  thank  nor  blame 
her.  It  very  seldom  occurred  to  him  to  do 
either;  but  so  sure  as  he  threw  a  "good  child" 
at  her,  she  had  a  lump  in  her  throat  and  smarting 
eyes.  True,  she  had  her  little  rewards,  to  be 
enjoyed  when  he  could  not  guess  that  her  heart 
was  all  in  a  flutter,  or  see  that  her  cheeks  were  wet. 
Night  and  morning  they  said  their  Pater  Noster  and 
u4ve  Alaria,  out  of  which  (although  she  under- 
stood them  as  little  as  he  did)  she  did  not  fail  to 
suck  the  comfort  he  had  promised  her.  She 
learned  also  to  speak  familiarly  to  Saint  Isidore 
and  Madonna.  This  served  her  in  good  stead 
later  in  her  career.  Meantime,  night  and  morning 
they  knelt  side  by  side,  their  arms  touched, 
sometimes  their  hands  strayed  and  joined  com- 
pany. Then  hers  ended  by  resting  where  they 
were,  as  in  a  warm  nest.  Pray  what  more  could 
a  girl  ask  of  the  Christian  faith  ? 

By  sunset  of  the  second  day  passed  in  this 
fashion  they  were  before  the  great  west  front 
of  Gracedieu  Minster,  knocking  at  the  Mercy 
Door.  It  opened.  They  were  safe  for  the 
present,  and  Prosper  felt  his  horizon  enlarged. 


CHAPTER   XI 

SANCTUARY 

After  Vespers  that  day  Prosper  demanded  an 
audience  of  the  Lady  Abbess,  and  had  it.  He 
found  her  a  handsome,  venerable  old  lady,  at 
peace  with  all  the  world  and,  so  far  as  that  com- 
ported with  her  religion,  a  woman  of  it.  She 
had  held  high  rank  in  it  by  right  of  birth  ;  she 
knew  what  it  could  do,  and  what  not  do,  of 
good  and  evil.  Now  that  she  was  old  enough 
to  call  its  denizens  her  children,  she  folded  her 
hands  and  played  grandmother.  Naturally,  there- 
fore, she  knew  Prosper  by  name;  for  that,  as 
much  as  his  frank  looks,  she  made  him  welcome. 
She  did  not  ask  it,  but  he  could  see  that  she 
expected  to  be  enlightened  upon  the  subject  of 
Isoult  —  doubtful  company  for  a  knight ;  so 
having  made  up  his  mind  how  much  he  could 
afford  to  tell  her,  he  did  not  waste  time  in 
preliminaries. 

"  Madam',"  said  he,  after  the  first  greetings  of 
good  company,  "  a  knight  adventuring  in  this 
forest  cannot  see  very  far  before  his  face,  and 
may  make  error  worse  by  what  he  does  to  solve 
error.  If  by  mischance  such  a  thing  should 
befall  him,  he  must  not  faint,  but  persist  until  he 

107 


io8  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

has  loosed  not  only  the  knot  he  has  tied  him- 
self, but  that  as  well  which  he  has  made  more 
inexorable." 

The  Lady  Abbess  bowed  very  graciously, 
waiting  for  him  to  be  done  with  phrases.  Prosper 
went  on — 

"  I  found  this  damsel  in  the  hands  of  a  knave, 
who  offered  her  a  choice  of  death  or  dishonour. 
I  took  her  into  my  own,  and  so  far  have  spared 
her  either.  The  rascal  who  had  her  now  lies 
with  a  split  gullet  many  leagues  from  here,  in 
such  a  condition  that  he  will  trouble  her  no  more 
I  hope.  Add  to  this,  that  I  have  questioned  her, 
and  find  her  honest,  meek,  and  a  Christian.  She 
is,  as  you  will  see  for  yourself,  very  good-looking  : 
it  was  near  to  be  her  undoing.  I  cannot  tell 
you,  nor  will  you  ask  me,  first,  her  name  (for  I 
am  not  certain  of  it),  second,  the  name  of  her  enemy 
(for  that  would  involve  a  great  company  whereof 
he  is  a  most  unworthy  member),  nor  third,  what 
means  I  employed  to  insure  immunity  for  her 
body,  and  honour  for  my  own  as  well  as  hers  ; 
for  this  would  involve  us  all.  In  time  I  shall 
certainly  achieve  the  adventure  thus  thrust  upon 
me,  but  for  the  present  my  intention  is  for  High 
March  Castle,  and  the  Countess  of  Hauterive, 
who  was  a  friend  of  my  father's,  and  is,  as  I 
know,  one  of  yours.  If  you  will  permit  it  I  will 
leave  Isoult  with  you.  She  will  serve  you  well 
and  faithfully  in  a  hundred  ways ;  she  is  very 
handy  and  quick,  a  good  girl,  anxious  to  be 
a  better.  If  you  can  make  a  nun  of  her,  well  and 
good :  by  that  means  the  adventure  will  achieve 
itself.     I  leave  you  to  judge,  however  ;  but  if  you 


SANCTUARY  ioq 

cannot  help  nic  there,  let  her  stay  with  you  for  a 
year.  After  that  I  will  fetch  her  and  achieve  the 
adventure  otherwise." 

The  Abbess  smiled  at  the  young  man's  judicial 
airs,  which  very  ill  concealed  the  elevation  of  his 
mind.  She  only  said  that  she  would  p^ladly  help 
him  in  the  honourable  task,  he  had  set  himsell,  and 
doubted  not  but  that  the  girl  would  pro\e  a  good 
and  useful  servant  to  the  convent.  Hut  she 
atlded — 

"  Tt  is  easy  to  see,  sir,  that  as  a  Christian 
your  part  is  of  the  C'hurch  militant.  I  would 
remind  you  that  a  luin  is  not  luade  in  a  yeai." 

"•  I  mentioned  a  year  because  it  was  a  long 
time,  and  for  the  sake  of  an  example  of  what  I 
had  designed,"  said  Prosper  calmly.  "However, 
if  it  takes  longer,  and  you  think  well  of  it,  I 
shall  not  complain." 

"  y\nd  what  does  the  girl  say?"  the  Abbess 
inquired.  "  }'\)r  some  sort  of  vocation  is 
necessary  for  the  religious  life,  you  must  under- 
stand." 

"  I  have  not  yet  spoken  to  Isoult  about  it,"  he 
replied.  "  She  will  do  what  I  tell  her.  She  is  a 
very  good  girl-" 

"  I  think  I  should  speak  to  her  myself,"  said 
the  y\bbess,  not  without  decision. 

"  So  you  shall,"  Prosf)cr  agreed;  "but  it  will 
be  better  that  I  prepare  her.  If  you  will  allow 
me  I  will  do  so  at  once,  as  I  should  leave  early 
to-morrow." 

"There  goes  a  young  man  who  should  climb 
high,"  said  the  Lady  y\bbess,  as  her  guest  paid 
his  respects. 


no  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Prosper  went  into  the  cloister,  and  found 
Isoult  sitting  with  the  mistress  of  the  novices 
and  her  girls  who  were  at  work  there.  She 
looked  tired  and  constrained,  but  lit  up  when 
he  came  in,  firing  a  girl's  signals  in  her  cheeks. 
As  for  her  eyes,  the  moment  Prosper  appeared 
they  never  wavered  from  him. 

He  excused  himself  to  the  nun,  saying  that  he 
had  business  with  Isoult,  which  by  leave  of  the 
Abbess  he  might  transact  in  the  guest  chamber. 
One  of  the  novices  conducted  him ;  Isoult 
followed  meekly. 

Once  alone  with  her,  Prosper  sat  down  by  the 
fire  and  told  Isoult  to  fetch  a  stool  and  sit  by 
him.  She  did  as  she  was  bid,  sat  at  his  knee, 
folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  waited  for  him 
to  begin,  looking  thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 
Prosper  laid  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder, 

"  Isoult,"  he  said,  "  we  have  got  our  sanctuary, 
as  you  see,  and  for  all  that  appears  need  neither 
have  sought  nor  claimed  it.  We  have  had  no 
pursuit  worthy  the  name.  It  is  evident  to  me 
that  they  have  calculated  the  deserts  of  Master 
Galors  at  Malbank,  and  put  it  at  our  figure. 
Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  to  be  at  Gracedieu,  for  I 
had  decided  upon  it  before  ever  we  met  and 
drubbed  that  monk.  When  I  saved  you  from 
being  hanged  I  saved  your  body ;  now  I  shall 
think  of  your  soul's  health,  which  (the  Church 
tells  us)  is  far  more  precious.  For  it  would 
seem  that  a  man  can  do  without  a  body,  but  by 
no  means  without  a  soul.  Now,  I  have  married 
you,  Isoult,  and  by  that  act  saved  your  body; 
but  I  have  not  as  yet  done  any  more,  for  though 


SANCTUARY  iii 

I  have  heard  many  things  of  marriage,  I  never 
heard  that  it  was  good  for  the  soul.  Moreover, 
for  marriage  to  be  tolerable,  I  suppose  love  is 
necessary," — Isoult  started, — "and  that  we  cer- 
tainly know  nothing  about  it."  Isoult  shivered 
very  slightly,  so  slightly  that  Prosper  did  not  notice 
it.  "  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  you,  my 
child,"  he  continued,  "  since  I  married  you,  and 
something  also  of  myself,  my  destinies,  and  duties 
as  a  knight  and  good  Christian.  I  have  decided 
to  go  at  once  to  High  March,  where  I  shall  find 
the  Countess  Isabel.  She,  being  an  old  friend  of 
my  family's,  will  no  doubt  take  me  into  her 
service.  I  shall  fight  for  her  of  course,  I  shall 
win  honour  and  renown,  very  hkely  a  fief.  With 
that  behind  me  I  shall  go  to  Starning  and 
trounce  my  brother  Malise,  baron  or  no  baron. 
I  shall  bring  him  to  his  knees  in  a  cold  sweat, 
and  then  I  shall  say — '  Get  up,  you  ass,  and 
learn  not  to  meddle  again  with  a  gentleman,  and 
son  of  a  gentleman.' 

"In  addition  to  that  business  I  have  a  certain 
matter  to  inquire  into  concerning  a  lady  whom  I 
met  in  the  purlieus  of  this  forest,  and  a  dead  man 
she  had  with  her,  I  do  not  like  the  looks  of 
that  case.  Certainly  I  must  inquire  into  it,  and 
do  what  pertains.  There  may  be  other  things 
needing  my  direction,  but  if  there  are  I  have 
forgotten  them  for  the  moment. 

"  You  will  think  that  in  all  this  I  have  also 
forgotten  you,  child.  Far  from  it.  Listen  now. 
You  cannot  of  course  go  to  High  March.  You 
would  not  be  happy  there,  nor  am  I  in  a  position 
to  make  you  happy.       No,  no  ;  you   shall    stay 


113  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

here  with  the  good  nuns,  and  be  useful  to  them, 
and  happy  with  them.  You  shall  learn  to  serve 
God,  so  that  in  time  you  may  become  a  nun 
yourself.  You  know  my  thoughts  about  monks, 
that  I  do  not  like  them.  But  nuns  are  quite 
otherwise.  Our  Lord  Jesus  was  served  by  two 
women,  of  whom  Mary  was  assuredly  a  nun,  and 
Martha  a  religious  woman  equally,  probably  of 
the  begging  order — a  sister  of  Saint  Clare,  or  of 
the  order  of  Mount  Carmel.  The  point  is,  I 
believe,  still  in  doubt.  So  you  see  that  you  have 
excellent  examples  before  you  to  persevere. 
When  I  have  put  my  affairs  in  train  at  High  March 
I  will  come  and  see  you ;  and  as  you  are  my 
wife,  if  any  trouble  should  come  about  you,  any 
sickness,  or  threatening  from  without,  or  any 
private  grief,  send  me  word,  and  I  will  never  fail 
you.  Moreover,  have  no  doubts  of  my  fidelity: 
I  am  a  gentleman,  Isoult,  as  you  know.  And 
indeed  such  pranks  are  not  to  my  taste." 

He  stopped  talking,  but  not  patting  the  girl's 
shoulder.  It  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
endure.  At  first  her  blank  and  sheer  dismay  had 
been  almost  comical ;  she  had  looked  at  him  as  if 
he  was  mad,  or  talking  gibberish.  The  even 
flow  of  his  reasoning  went  on,  and  with  it  a  high 
satisfaction  in  all  his  plans  patent  even  to  her 
cloudy  intellect;  gradually  thus  the  truth 
dawned  upon  her,  and  as  he  continued  she  lost 
the  sense  of  his  spoken  thoughts  in  the  mad 
cross-tides  of  her  own  unuttered.  Now  her 
crying  instinct  was  for  rescue  at  all  costs,  at  any 
hazard.  Prayers,  entreaties,  cravings  for  reprieve 
thronged  unvoiced  and  not  to  be  voiced  through 


SANCTUARY  113 

every  fibre  of  her  body.  Could  he  not  spare 
her  ?  Could  he  not  ?  If  she  could  turn 
suddenly  upon  him,  clasp  his  knees,  worm  her- 
self between  his  arms,  put  her  face — wet,  shaking, 
tremulous,  but  ah.  Lord  !  how  full  of  love — near 
to  his!  If  she  could  I  She  could  not;  shame 
froze  her,  choked  not  speech  only  but  act ;  she 
was  dumb  through  and  through — a  dumb 
animal. 

*'  Well,  Isoult,  what  do  you  say  ? "  he  asked  in 
his  cheerful  voice.  He  could  hardly  hear  her 
answer,  it  came  so  low. 

"  I  will  do  thy  pleasure,  lord,"  she  murmured. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  forehead,  not 
noticino;  how  she  shook. 

"Good  child,"  he  said,  "good  child!  I  am 
more  than  satisfied  with  you,  and  hope  that  I 
may  have  proved  as  pleasant  a  traveller  as  I  have 
found  you  to  be.  My  salute  must  be  for  good- 
night and  farewell,  Isoult,  for  to-morrow  morning 
I  shall  be  gone  before  you  have  turned  your  side 
in  bed.  That  is  where  you  should  be  now,  my 
dear.  Your  head  is  very  hot — a  sign  that  you 
are  tired.  Forget  not  what  I  have  said  to  you  in 
anything ;  forget  not  to  trust  me.  They  will 
show  you  your  bed.     Good-bye,  Isoult." 

She  muttered  something  inaudible  with  her 
lips,  and  went  out  without  looking  at  him  again. 
Every  bone  in  her  body  ached  so  cruelly  that 
she  could  hardly  drag  herself  along.  She  could 
neither  think  nor  cry  out ;  what  strength  she  had 
went  towards  carrying  this  new  load,  which,  while 
it  paralyzed,  for  the  present  numbed  her  as  well. 
The  mistress  of  the  novices  was  shocked  to  see 


114  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

her  white  drawn  face,  heavily-blacked  eyes,  and 
to  hear  a  dead  voice  come  dully  from  such  pretty 
lips. 

"My  dear  heart,"  said  the  good  woman, 
"you  are  tired  to  death.  Come  with  me  to  the 
still-room ;  I  will  give  you  a  cordial."  The 
liquor  at  least  sent  some  blood  to  her  face  and 
lips,  with  whose  help  she  was  able  to  find  her 
bed.  For  that  night  she  had  for  bedfellow  a  fat 
nun,  who  snored  and  moaned  in  her  sleep,  was 
fretful  at  the  least  stir,  and  effectually  prevented 
her  companion  from  snoring  in  turn,  if  she  had 
been  afflicted  with  that  disease.  Isoult  stirred 
little  enough  :  being  worn  out  with  grief  entirely 
new  to  her,  to  say  nothing  of  her  fatigue  of  travel, 
she  lay  like  a  log  and  (what  she  had  never  done 
before)  dreamed  horribly.  Very  early,  before 
light,  she  was  awake  and  face  to  face  with  her 
anguish  again.  She  lay  in  a  waking  stupor, 
fatally  sensible,  but  incapable  of  responsible  action. 
She  had  to  hear  Prosper's  voice  in  the  courtyard 
sharply  inquiring  of  the  way,  his  words  to  his 
horse,  all  his  clinking  preparations;  she  heard 
his  high-sung  "  Heaven  be  with  you ;  pray  for 
me,"  and  the  diminishing  chorus  of  Saracen's 
hoofs  on  the  road.  She  trembled  so  much 
during  this  torment  that  she  feared  to  shake  the 
bed.  Very  w^eakness  at  last  took  pity  on  her ; 
she  swooned  asleep  again,  this  time  dreamless. 
The  fat  nun  getting  up  for  Prime,  also  took 
enough  pity  upon  her  to  let  her  lie.  So  it  was 
that  Prosper  left  Gracedieu. 


CHAPTER   XII 

BROKEN    SANCTUARY 

Through  the  days  of  rain  and  falling  leaves, 
when  all  the  forest  was  sodden  with  mist ;  through 
the  dark  days  of  winter,  hushed  with  snow,  she 
stayed  with  the  nuns,  serving  them  meekly  in 
whatever  tasks  they  set  her.  She  was  once  more 
milk-maid  and  cowherd,  laundress  again,  still- 
room  maid  for  a  season,  and  in  time  (being  risen 
so  high)  tirewoman  to  the  Lady  Abbess  herself. 
Short  of  profession  you  can  get  no  nearer  the 
choir  than  that.  It  was  not  by  her  tongue  that 
she  won  so  much  favour — indeed  she  hardly 
spoke  at  all;  as  for  pleasantness  she  never  showed 
more  than  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  "  I  am  in 
bondage,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  in  a  strange  house, 
and  no  one  knows  what  treasure  I  hide  in  my 
bosom."  There  she  kept  her  wedding-ring. 
But  if  she  was  subdued,  she  was  undeniably 
useful,  and  there  are  worse  things  in  a  servant 
than  to  go  staidly  about  her  work  with  collected 
looks  and  sober  feet,  to  have  no  adventurous 
traffic  with  the  men-servants  about  the  granges 
or  farms,  never  to  see  nor  hear  what  it  would  be 
inconvenient  to  know — in  a  word,  to  mind  her 
business.     In  time  therefore — and  that  not  a  long 

115 


ii6  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

one  as  times  go — her  featness  and  patience, 
added  to  her  beauty  (for  it  was  not  long  before 
the  gentler  life  or  the  richer  possession  made  her 
very  handsome),  won  her  the  regard  of  everybody 
in  the  house. 

The  Abbess,  as  I  have  told  you  already, 
took  her  into  high  favour  before  Christmas 
was  over — actually  by  Epiphany  she  could 
suffer  no  other  to  dress  her  or  be  about  her 
person.  She  loved  pretty  maids,  she  said,  when 
they  were  good.  Isoult  was  both,  so  the  Abbess 
loved  her.  The  two  got  to  know  each  other,  to 
take  each  other's  measure — to  their  reciprocal 
advantage.  Isoult  was  very  guarded  how  she 
did ;  what  she  said  was  always  impersonal,  what 
she  heard  never  went  further.  The  Abbess  was 
pleased.  She  would  often  commend  her,  take 
her  by  the  chin,  turn  up  her  face  and  kiss  her. 
A  frequent  strain  of  her  talk  was  openly  against 
Prosper's  ideas  :  the  Abbess  thought  Prosper  a 
ridiculous  youth. 

"  Child,"  she  would  say — and  Isoult  thrilled 
at  the  familiar  word  (Prosper's  !  ) — "  Child,  you 
are  too  good-looking  to  be  a  nun.  In  due 
season  we  must  find  you  a  husband.  Your 
knight  seemed  aghast  at  the  thought  that 
salvation  could  be  that  way.  Some  fine  morning 
the  young  gentleman  will  sing  a  very  different 
note.  Meantime  he  is  wide  of  the  mark.  For 
our  blessed  Lord  loveth  not  as  men  love  (who 
love  as  they  are  made),  nor  would  He  have  them 
who  are  on  the  earth  and  of  it  do  otherwise  than 
seek  the  fairest  that  it  hath  to  give  them.  Far 
from   that,  but  He  will  draw  eye  to  eye  and  lip 


BROKEN   SANCTUARY  117 

to  lip,  so  both  be  pure,  saying,  '  Be  fruitful,  and 
plenish  the  earth.'  But  to  those  not  so  favoured 
as  you  are  He  saith,  '  Come,  thou  shalt  be  bride 
of  Heaven,  and  lie  down  in  the  rose-garden  of 
the  Lamb.'  So  each  loves  in  her  degree,  and 
according  to  the  measure  of  her  being ;  and  it 
is  very  well  that  this  should  be  so,  in  order  that 
the  garners  of  Paradise  may  one  day  be  full." 

This  sort  of  talk,  by  no  means  strange  on  the 
old  lady's  part,  sometimes  tempted  Isoult  to  tell 
her  story — that  she  was  a  wife  already.  No 
doubt  she  would  have  done  it  had  not  a  thought 
forborne  her.  Prosper  did  not  love  her ;  their 
relations  were  not  marital — so  much  she  knew 
as  well  as  anybody.  She  would  never  confess 
her  love  for  him,  even  to  Prosper  himself;  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  own  that  she  loved 
and  was  unloved.  She  thought  that  was  a  dis- 
grace, one  that  would  flood  her  with  shame  and 
Prosper  with  her,  as  her  husband  though  only 
in  name.  She  thought  that  she  would  rather  die 
than  utter  this  secret  of  hers;  she  believed 
indeed  that  she  soon  would  die.  That  was  why 
she  never  told  the  Abbess,  and  again  why  she 
made  no  effort  nor  had  any  temptation  to  run 
away  and  find  him  out.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
her  mere  appearance  before  him  would  be  a 
confession  of  deep  shame. 

But  she  never  ceased  for  an  hour  to  think  of 
him,  poor  miserable.  In  bed  she  would  lie  for 
whole  watches  awake,  calling  his  name  over  and 
over  again  in  a  whisper.  Her  ring  grew  to  be 
a  familiar,  Prosper's  genius.  She  would  take  it 
from  her  bosom  and  hold  it  to  her  lips,  whisper 


ii8  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

broken  words  to  it,  as  if  she  were  in  her  husband's 
arms.  With  the  same  fancy  she  would  try  to 
make  it  understand  how  she  loved  him.  That 
is  a  thing  very  few  girls  so  much  as  know,  and 
still  fewer  can  utter  even  to  their  own  hearts ; 
and  so  it  proved  with  her.  She  was  as  mute 
and  shamefaced  before  the  ring  as  before  the 
master  of  the  ring.  So  she  would  sigh,  put  it 
back  in  its  nest,  and  hide  her  face  in  the  pillow 
to  cool  her  cheeks.  At  last  in  tears  she  would 
fall  asleep.     So  the  days  dragged. 

In  February,  when  the  light  drew  out,  when 
there  was  a  smell  of  wet  woods  in  the  air,  when 
birds  sang  again  in  the  brakes,  and  here  and 
there  the  bushes  facing  south  budded,  matters 
grew  worse  for  her.  She  began  to  be  very 
heavy,  her  nightly  vigils  began  to  tell.  She 
could  not  work  so  well,  she  lagged  in  her  move- 
ments, fell  into  stares  and  woke  with  starts, 
blundered  occasionally.  She  had  never  been  a 
fanciful  girl,  having  no  nurture  for  such  flower- 
ing ;  but  now  her  visions  began  to  be  distorted. 
Her  love  became  her  thorn,  her  side  one  deep 
wound.  More  and  more  of  the  night  was  con- 
sumed in  watchings;  she  cried  easily  and  often 
(for  any  reason  or  no  reason),  and  she  was  apt 
to  fall  faint.  So  February  came  and  went  in 
storms,  and  March  brought  open  weather,  warm 
winds,  a  carpet  of  flowers  to  the  woods.  This 
enervated,  and  so  aggravated  her  malady :  the 
girl  began  to  droop  and  lose  her  good  looks. 
In  turn  the  Abbess,  who  was  really  fond  of  her, 
became  alarmed.  She  thought  she  was  ill,  and 
made  a  great  pet  of  her.     She  got  no  better. 


BROKEN   SANCTUARY 


119 


She  was  allowed  her  liberty  to  go  wherever 
she  pleased.  In  her  trouble  she  used  to  run 
into  the  woods,  with  a  sort  of  blind  sense  that 
physical  distress  would  act  counter  to  her  sick 
soul.  She  would  run  as  fast  as  she  could :  her 
tears  flew  behind  her  like  rain.  Over  and  over 
to  herself  she  whispered  Prosper's  name  as  she 
ran — "Prosper!  Prosper  le  Gai !  Prosper! 
Prosper,  my  lord ! "  and  so  on,  just  as  if  she 
were  mad.  It  was  in  the  course  of  these  dis- 
tracted pranks  that  she  discovered  and  fell  in 
love  with  a  young  pine  tree,  slim  and  straight. 
She  thought  that  it  (like  the  ring)  held  the  spirit 
of  Prosper,  and  adored  him  under  its  bark.  She 
cut  a  heart  in  it  with  his  name  set  in  the  midst 
and  her  own  beneath.  Ceremony  thereafter  be- 
came her  relief  and  all  she  cared  about.  She 
did  mystic  rites  before  her  tree  (in  which  the 
ring  played  a  part),  forgetting  herself  for  the  time. 
She  would  draw  out  her  ring  and  look  at  it,  then 
kiss  it.  Then  it  must  be  lifted  up  to  the  length 
of  its  chain  as  she  had  seen  the  priest  elevate 
the  Host  at  Mass ;  she  genuflected  and  fell 
prone  in  mute  adoration,  crying  all  the  time 
with  tears  streaming  down  her  face.  She  was 
at  this  time  hke  to  dissolve  in  tears !  Without 
fail  the  mysteries  ended  with  the  Pater  Noster, 
the  yJre,  a  certain  Litany  which  the  nuns  had 
taught  her,  and  some  gasping  words  of  urgency 
to  the  Virgin  and  Saint  Isidore.  Love  was 
scourging  her  slender  body  at  this  time  truly, 
and  with  well-pickled  rods. 

On  a  certain  day  of  mid-March, — it  would  be 
about  the  twelfth,— as  she  was  at  these  exercises 


I20  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

about  the  mystic  tree,  a  tall  lady  in  Lincoln 
green  and  silver  furs  came  out  of  a  thicket  and 
saw  Isoult,  though  Isoult  saw  not  her.  She 
stood  smiling,  watching  the  poor  devotee ;  then, 
choosing  her  time,  came  quietly  behind  her, 
saw  the  heart  and  read  the  names.  This  made 
her  smile  all  the  more,  and  think  a  little.  Then 
she  touched  Isoult  on  the  shoulder  with  the 
effect  of  bringing  her  from  heaven  to  dull  earth 
in  a  trice.  By  some  instinct — she  was  made 
of  instincts,  quick  as  a  bird — the  girl  concealed 
her  ring  before  she  turned. 

"Why  are  you  crying,  child?"  said  this 
smiling  lady. 

"  Oh,  ma'am !  "  cried  the  girl,  half  crazy  and 
beside  herself  with  her  troubles — "  Oh,  ma'am ! 
let  me  tell  you  a  little ! " 

She  told  her~  more  than  a  little :  she  told  her 
in  fact  everything — in  a  torrent  of  words  and 
tears — except  the  one  thing  that  might  have 
helped  her.  She  did  not  say  that  she  was 
married,  though  short  of  that  she  gulped  the 
shame  of  loving  unloved. 

"  Poor  child ! "  said  the  lady  when  she  had 
heard  the  sobbed  confession,  "  you  are  indeed  in 
love.  And  Prosper  le  Gai  is  your  lover  ?  And 
you  are  Isoult  la  Desirous?  So  these  notches 
declare  at  least :  they  are  yours  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Isoult ;  "  but  he 
is  not  my  lover.     He  is  my  master." 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course,  child,"  the  lady 
laughed — "  they  are  always  the  master.  If  we 
are  the  mistress  we  are  lucky.  And  do  you  love 
him  so  much,  Isoult  ?  " 


BROKEN    SANCTUARY  ir.i 

^'Yes,  ma'am,"  said  she. 

"  Silly  girl,  silly  girl !  How  much  do  you 
love  him  now  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  tell  you,  ma'am." 

"  Could  you  tell  him  then  ?  " 

«  Ah,  no,  no  !  " 

"  But  you  have  told  him,  silly  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  indeed." 

"  It  needs  few  words,  you  must  know." 

"They  are  more  than  I  can  dare,  ma'am." 

"  It  can  be  done  without  words  at  all.  Come 
here,  Isoult.     Listen." 

She  whispered  in  her  ear. 

Isoult  grew  very  grave.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
at  this  minute,  all  black,  and  not  a  shred  of 
colour  was  left  in  her  face. 

"  Ah,  never  !  "  she  cried. 

Maulfry  laughed  heartily. 

"  You  are  the  dearest  little  goose  in  the 
world !  "  she  cried.  "  Come  and  kiss  me  at 
once." 

Isoult  did  as  she  was  told.  Maulfry  did  not 
let  her  go  again. 

"Now,"  she  went  on,  with  her  arms  round  the 
girl's  waist  and  her  arch  face  very  near,  "  now 
you  are  to  know,  Isoult,  that  I  am  a  wonderful 
lady.  I  am  friends  with  half  the  knights  in  the 
kingdom  ;  I  have  armour  of  my  own,  shields  and 
banneroles,  and  halberts  and  swords,  enough  to 
frighten  the  Countess  Isabel  out  of  her  three 
shires.  I  could  scare  the  Abbot  Richard  and 
the  Abbess  Mechtild  by  the  lift  of  a  little  finger. 
Oh,  I  know  what  I  am  saying !  It  so  happens 
that  your  Prosper  is  a  great  friend  of  mine.     I 


122  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

am  very  fond  of  him,  and  of  course  I  must  needs 
be  interested  in  what  you  tell  me.  Well  now — ■ 
come  with  me  and  find  him.  Will  you?  I  dare 
say  he  is  not  very  far  off." 

Isoult  stared  at  her  without  speaking.  Doubt, 
wonder,  longing,  prayer,  quavered  in  her  eyes  as 
each  held  the  throne  for  a  time. 

"  He  told  me  to  stay  at  Gracedieu,"  she  faltered. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  maiming  her  own 
dream. 

"  He  tells  me  differently  then,"  said  Maulfry, 
smiling  easily ;  "  I  suppose  even  a  lover  may 
change  his  mind." 

"  Oh  !  Oh  !  you  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"Certainly  I  have  seen  him." 

"  And  he  says " 

"  What  do  you  think  he  says  ?  Might  it  not 
be,  Come  and  find  me  ?  " 

"  He  is— ah,  he  is  ill  ?  " 

"  He  is  well." 

"  In  danger  ? " 

"  I  know  of  none." 

"  I  am  to  leave  Gracedieu  and  come  with  you, 
ma'am  ? " 

"  Yes.     Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

For  answer  Isoult  fell  flat  down  and  kissed 
Maulfry's  silver  hem. 

"  I  will  follow  you  to  death !  "  she  cried. 

Maulfry  shivered,  then  arched  her  brows. 

"  It  will  not  be  so  bad  as  all  that,"  she  said. 
"  Come  then,  we  will  find  the  horses." 

Isoult  looked  down  confusedly  at  her  grey 
frock. 

"  You  little  jay  bird,  who's  to  see  you  here 


BROKEN    SANCTUARY  123 

among  the  trees  ?  Come  with  me,  I'll  set  you 
strutting  like  a  peacock  before  I've  done  with 
you,"  said  Maulfry,  in  her  mocking,  good- 
humoured  way. 

They  went  together.  Maulfry  had  hold  of 
Isoult  by  the  hand.  Presently  they  came  to  an 
open  glade  where  there  were  two  horses  held  by 
a  mounted  groom.  As  soon  as  he  saw  them 
coming  the  groom  got  off,  helped  Isoult  first, 
then  his  mistress.  They  rode  away  at  a  quick 
trot  down  the  slope ;  the  horses  seemed  to  know 
the  way. 

Maulfry  was  in  high  spirits.  She  played  a 
thousand  tricks,  and  enveigled  from  the  brooding 
girl  her  most  darling  thoughts.  Before  they  had 
made  their  day's  journey  she  had  learnt  all  that 
she  wanted  to  know,  or  rather  what  she  knew 
already.  It  confirmed  what  Galors  had  told  her : 
she  believed  his  story.  For  her  part  Isoult,  hav- 
ing once  made  the  plunge,  gave  her  heart  its  way, 
bathed  it  openly  in  love,  and  was  not  ashamed. 
To  talk  of  Prosper  more  freely  than  she  had  ever 
dared  even  to  herself,  to  talk  of  loving  him,  of 
her  hopes  of  winning  him  !  She  seemed  a  winged 
creature  as  she  flew  through  the  hours  of  a  forest 
day.  It  pleased  her,  too,  to  think  that  she  was 
being  discreet  in  saying  nothing  of  her  marriage. 
If  Prosper  had  not  thought  fit  to  reveal  it  to  his 
accomplished  friend  she  must  keep  the  secret  by 
all  means — his  and  hers.  Instead  of  clouding 
her  hopeful  visions  this  gave  them  an  evening 
touch  of  mystery.  It  elevated  her  by  making 
her  an  accomplice.  He  and  she  were  banded 
together  against  this  all- wise  lady.    No  doubt  she 


124  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

would  learn  it  in  time — in  his  time ;  and  then 
Isoult  dreamed  (and  blushed  as  she  dreamed)  of 
another  part,  wherein  she  would  snuggle  herself 
into  his  arm  and  whisper,  "  Have  I  not  been 
wise  ?  "  Then  she  would  be  kissed,  and  the  lady 
would  laugh  to  learn  how  she  had  been  outwitted 
by  a  young  girl.  Ah,  what  dreams!  Isoult's 
wings  took  her  a  far  flight  when  once  she  had 
spread  them  to  the  sun. 

Journeying  thus  they  reached  a  road  by  night- 
fall, and  a  little  House  of  Access,  To  go  direct 
to  Tortsentier  they  should  have  passed  this  house 
on  the  left-hand,  for  the  tower  was  south-east 
from  Gracedieu.  But  there  was  a  reason  for  the 
circuit,  as  for  every  other  twist  of  Maulfry's  ;  the 
true  path  would  have  brought  them  too  nearly 
upon  that  by  which  Prosper  and  Isoult  had  come 
seeking  sanctuary.  Instead  they  struck  due  east, 
and  hit  the  main  road  which  runs  from  High 
March  to  Market  Basing ;  then  by  going  south 
for  another  day  they  would  win  Tortsentier. 
Isoult,  of  course,  as  a  born  woodlander  would 
know  the  whereabouts  of  Maulfry's  dwelling 
from  any  side  but  the  north.  She  was  of  South 
Morgraunt,  and  therefore  knew  nothing  of  the 
north  or  middle  forest.  All  this  Maulfry  had 
calculated.  At  the  House  of  Access  the  girl  was 
actually  a  day's  journey  nearer  Prosper  than  she 
had  been  at  the  convent,  but  she  knew  nothing 
of  it.  Consequently  her  night's  rest  refreshed 
her,  waking  dreams  stayed  the  night,  and  left 
traces  of  their  rosy  flames  in  her  cheeks  next 
morning.  Maulfry,  waking  first,  looked  at  her 
as  she  lay  pillowing  her  cheek  on  her  arm^,  with 


BROKEN   SANCTUARY  125 

her  wild  hair  spread  behind  her  like  a  dark  cloud. 
Maulfry,  I  say,  looked  at  her. 

"  You  are  a  little  beauty,  my  dear,"  she  thought 
to  herself,  "  Countess  or  bastard,  you  are  a  little 
beauty.  And  there  is  countess  in  your  blood 
somewhere,  I'll  take  an  oath.  Hands  and  feet, 
neck  and  head,  tell  the  story.  There  was  love 
and  a  young  countess  and  a  hot-brained  troubadour 
went  to  the  making  of  you,  my  httle  lady.  A 
ditch-full  of  witches  could  not  bring  such  tokens 
to  a  villein.  Galors,  my  dear  friend,  if  I  owed 
nothing  to  Master  le  Gai,  I  doubt  if  I  should 
help  you  to  this.  'Tis  too  much,  my  friend, 
with  an  earldom.    She  needs  no  crown,  pardieu  !  " 

She  knew  her  own  crown  had  toppled,  and 
grew  a  little  bleak  as  she  thought  of  it.  There 
was  no  earldom  for  her  to  fall  back  upon.  She 
looked  older  when  off  her  guard.  But  she  had 
determined  to  be  loyal  to  the  one  friend  she  had 
ever  had.  The  worst  woman  in  the  world  can 
do  that  much.  Therefore,  when  Isoult  woke  up 
she  found  herself  made  much  of  The  sun  of 
her  day-dreaming  rose  again  and  shone  full  upon 
her.  By  the  end  of  the  day  they  had  reached 
Tortsentier.  Isoult  was  fast  in  a  prison  that  had 
no  look  of  a  prison,  where  Galors  was  mending 
his  throat  in  an  upper  chamber. 

Maulfry  came  and  sat  on  the  foot  of  his  bed. 
Galors,  strapped  and  bandaged  till  he  looked  like 
a  mewed  owl  in  a  bush,  turned  his  chalk  face  to 
her  with  inquiry  shooting  out  of  his  eyes.  Pie 
had  grown  a  spiky  black  beard,  from  which  he 
plucked  hairs  all  day,  thinking  and  scheming. 

"  Well,"  was  all  he  said. 


126  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Maulfry  nodded.  "  The  story  is  true.  She 
has  the  feet  and  hands.  She  is  a  little  beauty. 
You  have  only  to  shut  the  hole  in  your  neck." 

Galors  swore.  "  Let  God  judge  whether  that 
damned  acrobat  shall  pay  for  his  writhing  I  But 
the  other  shall  be  my  first  business.  So  she  is 
here — you  have  seen  her?  What  do  you  think 
of  her  ? " 

"  I  have  told  you." 

The  man's  appetite  grew  as  it  fed  upon  Maul- 
fry's  ])raise  of  his  taste. 

"  Ah — ah !     Dame,  I'm  a  man  of  taste — eh  ?  " 

Maulfry  said  nothing.  Galors  changed  the 
note. 

"How  shall  I  thank  you,  my  dear  oner"  he 
asked  her. 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  need  what  you  can 
spare  before  long." 

Then  she  left  him. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

HIGH  MARCH,  AND  A  GREAT  LADY 

In  the  weeping  grey  of  an  autumn  morning, 
but  in  great  spirits  of  his  own,  Prosper  left 
Gracedieu  for  High  March.  The  satisfaction 
of  having  braved  the  worst  of  an  adventure  was 
fairly  his ;  to  have  made  good  disposition  of  what 
threatened  to  fetter  him  by  shutting  off  any  pos- 
sible road  from  his  advance  ;  and  to  have  done 
this  (so  far  as  he  could  see)  without  in  any  sense 
withdrawing  from  Isoult  the  advantages  she  could 
expect — this  was  tunable  matter,  which  set  him 
singing  before  the  larks  were  off  the  ground. 
He  felt  like  a  man  who  has  earned  his  pleasure  ; 
and  pleasure,  as  he  understood  it,  he  meant  to 
have.  The  zest  for  it  sparkled  in  his  quick  eyes 
as  he  rode  briskly  through  the  devious  forest 
ways.  Had  Galors  or  any  other  dark-entry  man 
met  him  now  and  chanced  a  combat,  he  would 
have  had  it  with  a  will,  but  he  would  have  got 
off  with  a  rough  tumble  and  sting  or  two  from 
the  flat  of  the  sword.  The  youth  was  too  pleased 
with  himself  for  killing  or  slicing. 

However,  there  was  nobody  to  fight.  North 
Morgraunt  was  pretty  constantly  patrolled  by 
the  Countess's  riders  at  this  time.      A  few  grimy 

127 


128  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

colliers ;  some  chair-turners  amid  their  huts  and 
white  chips  on  the  edge  of  a  hidden  hamlet ; 
drovers  with  forest  ponies  going  for  Waisford  or 
Market  Basing ;  the  hospitality  and  interminable 
devotions  of  a  hermit  by  a  mossy  crucifix  on 
Two  Manors  Waste  ;  one  night  alone  in  a  ruined 
chapel  on  the  top  of  a  down: — of  such  were  the 
encounters  and  events  of  his  journey.  He  was 
no  Don  Quixote  to  make  desperadoes  or  feats  of 
endurance  out  of  such  gear;  on  the  contrary,  he 
persistently  enjoyed  himself.  Sour  beer  wetted 
his  lips  dry  with  talking ;  leaves  made  a  capital 
bed ;  the  hermit,  in  the  intervals  of  his  prayers, 
remembered  his  own  fighting  days  in  the  Mark- 
stake,  and  knew  what  was  done  to  make 
Maximilian  the  Second  safely  king.  Everything 
was  as  it  should  be. 

On  the  third  day  he  fell  in  with  a  troop  of  horse, 
whose  spears  carried  the  red  saltire  of  the  house 
of  Forz  on  their  banneroles.  Since  they  were 
bound  as  he  was  for  the  Castle,  he  rode  in  their 
company,  and  in  due  course  saw  before  him  on 
a  height  among  dark  pines  the  towers  of  High 
March,  with  the  flag  of  the  Lady  Paramount 
afloat  on  the  breeze.  It  was  on  a  dusty  after- 
noon of  October  and  in  a  whirl  of  flying  leaves, 
that  he  rode  up  to  the  great  gate  of  the  outer 
bailey,  and  blew  a  blast  on  the  horn  which  hung 
there,  that  they  might  let  down  the  bridge. 

When  the  Countess  Isabel  heard  who  and  of 
what  condition  her  visitor  was  she  made  him 
very  welcome.  The  Forz  and  the  Gais  were  of 
the  same  country  and  of  nearly  the  same  degree 
in  it.     She  had  been  a  Forz  before  she  married, 


HIGH   MARCH,  AND   A   GREAT   LADY    129 

and  she  counted  herself  so  still,  for  the  earldom 
of  Hauterive  was  hers  in  her  own  right;  and 
though  she  was  Earl  Roger's  widow  (and  thus 
a  double  Countess  Dowager),  she  could  not  but 
remember  it.  So  she  did  Prosper  every  honour 
of  hospitality :  she  sent  some  of  her  ladies  to 
disarm  him  and  lead  him  to  the  bath ;  she  sent 
him  soft  clothing  to  do  on  when  he  was  ready 
for  it ;  in  a  word,  put  him  at  his  ease.  When 
he  came  into  the  hall  it  was  the  same  thing  :  she 
got  up  from  her  chair  of  estate  and  walked  down 
to  meet  him,  while  all  the  company  made  a  lane 
for  the  pair  of  them.  Prosper  would  have  knelt 
to  kiss  her  hand  had  she  let  him,  but  instead 
she  gave  it  frankly  into  his  own. 

"You  are  the  son  of  my  father's  friend.  Sir 
Prosper,"  she  said,  "  and  shall  never  kneel  to  me." 

"  My  lady,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  try  to  deserve 
your  gracious  welcome.  My  father,  rest  his 
soul,  is  dead,  as  you  may  have  heard." 

"  Alas,  yes,"  the  Countess  replied,  "  I  know  it, 
and  grieve  for  you  and  your  brothers.  Of  my 
Lord  Malise  I  have  also  heard  something." 

"  Nothing  good,  I'll  swear,"  interjected  Prosper 
to  himself. 

The  Countess  went  on — 

"  Well,  Sir  Prosper,  you  stand  as  I  stand,  alone 
in  the  world.  It  would  seem  we  had  need  of 
each  other." 

Prosper  bowed,  feeling  the  need  of  nobody  for 
his  part.  Remember  he  was  three-and-twenty  to 
the  Countess's  thirty-five,  and  she  ten  years  a 
widow.  She  did  not  notice  his  silence,  but  went 
on,  glowing  with  her  thoughts. 


130  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  We  should  be  brother  and  sister  for  the  sake 
of  our  two  fathers,"  she  said  with  a  gentle  blush. 

"  I  never  felt  to  want  a  sister  till  now,"  cried 
Master  Prosper,  making  another  bow.  So  it  was 
understood  between  them  that  theirs  was  to  be  a 
nearer  relationship  than  host  and  guest. 

The  Countess  Isabel  —  or  to  give  her  her 
due,  Isabel,  Countess  of  Hauterive,  Countess 
Dowager  of  March  and  Bellesme,  Lady  of  Mor- 
graunt — was  still  a  beautiful  w^oman,  tall,  rather 
slim,  pale,  and  of  a  thoughtful  cast  of  the  face. 
She  had  a  very  noble  forehead,  level,  broad  and 
white  ;  her  eyes  beneath  arched  brows  were  grey 
— cold  grey,  not  so  full  nor  so  dark  as  Isoult's, 
nor  so  blue  in  the  whites,  but  keener.  They 
were  apt  to  take  a  chill  tinge  when  she  was  rather 
Countess  of  Hauterive  than  that  Isabel  de  Forz 
who  had  loved  and  lost  Fulk  de  Breaute.  She 
never  forgot  him,  and  for  his  sake  wore  nothing 
but  silk  of  black  and  white  ;  but  she  did  not 
forget  herself  either ;  within  walls  you  never  saw 
her  without  a  thin  gold  circlet  on  her  head. 
Even  at  Mass  she  w^ould  have  no  other  covering. 
She  said  it  was  enough  for  the  Countess  of 
Hauterive,  whom  Saint  Paul  probably  had  not 
in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  his  epistle.  Her  hair 
was  a  glory,  shining  and  very  abundant,  but 
brown  not  black.  Isoult,  you  will  perceive,  was 
a  warmer,  tenderer  copy  of  her  mother,  owing 
something  to  Fulk.  Isoult,  moreover,  had  not 
been  born  a  countess.  Both  were  inaccessible, 
the  daughter  from  the  timidity  of  a  wild  thing, 
the  mother  from  the  rarity  of  her  air.  Being 
what  she  was,  twice  a  widow,  bereft  of  her  only 


HIGH   MARCH,  AND   A   GREAT   LADY    131 

child,  and  burdened  with  cares  which  she  was 
much  too  proud  to  give  over,  she  never  had  fair 
judgment;  she  was  considered  hard  where  she 
was  merely  lonely.  Her  greatness  made  her 
remote,  and  her  only  comforter  the  worst  in  the 
world — herself.  Her  lips  drooped  a  little  at  the 
corners;  this  gave  her  a  wistful  look  at  times. 
At  other  times  she  looked  almost  cruel,  because 
of  a  trick  she  had  of  going  with  them  pressed 
together.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  shy  as 
well  as  proud,  and  fed  on  her  own  sorrows  from 
lack  of  the  power  to  declare  them  abroad.  It  was 
very  seldom  she  took  a  liking  for  any  stranger; 
doubtful  if  Prosper's  lineage  had  won  her  to  open 
to  him  as  she  had  done.  His  face  was  more 
answerable ;  that  blunt  candour  of  his,  the 
inquiring  blue  eyes,  the  eager  throw-back  of  the 
head  as  he  walked,  above  all  the  friendly  smile 
he  had  for  a  world  where  everything  and  every- 
body seemed  new  and  delightful  and  specially 
designed  for  his  entertainment — this  was  what 
unlocked  the  Countess's  darkened  treasury  of 
thought. 

Once  loosed  she  never  drew  back.  Brother 
and  sister  they  were  to  be.  She  made  him  hand 
her  into  supper ;  he  must  sit  at  her  right  hand ; 
her  own  cup-bearer  should  fill  his  wine-cup,  her 
own  Sewer  taste  all  his  meats.  At  the  end  of 
supper  she  sent  for  a  great  cup  filled  with  wine ; 
it  needed  both  her  hands.  She  held  it  up  before 
she  drank  to  him,  saying,  "  Let  there  be  love  and 
amity  between  me  and  thee."  The  terms  of  this 
aspiration  astonished  him  ;  he  accepted  honours 
easily,  for  he  was  used  to  observances  at  Starning ; 


132  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

but  to  be  thee'd  and  thou'd  by  this  lady !  As 
he  stood  there  laughing  and  blushing  like  a  boy 
she  made  him  drink  from  the  cup  to  the  same 
wish,  and  in  the  same  terms.  When  once  your 
frozen  soul  opens  to  the  thaw  all  the  sluices  are 
away,  truly.  Prosper  went  to  bed  that  night  very 
well  content  with  his  reception.  He  saw  his 
schemes  ripening  fast  on  such  a  sunny  wall  as 
this.  His  head  was  rather  full,  and  of  more  than 
the  fumes  of  wine ;  consequently  in  saying  his 
prayers  he  did  not  remember  Isoult  at  all.  Yet 
hers  had  been  sped  out  of  Gracedieu  Minster 
long  before,  and  to  the  same  gods.  Only  she  had 
had  Saint  Isidore  in  addition  ;  and  she  had  had 
Prosper.  Hers  probably  went  nearer  the  mark. 
Until  you  have  made  a  beloved  of  your  saint  or  a 
saint  of  your  beloved — it  matters  not  greatly 
which — you  will  get  little  comfort  out  of  your 
prayers. 

It  was,  however,  heedlessness  rather  than  design 
which  brought  it  about,  that  as  the  days  at  High 
March  succeeded  each  other  Prosper  did  not  tell 
the  Countess  either  of  his  adventure  or  of  his  sum- 
mary method  of  achieving  it.  Design  was  there  : 
he  did  not  see  his  way  to  involving  the  Abbot, 
who  was,  he  knew,  a  dependant  of  his  hostess, 
and  yet  could  not  begin  the  story  elsewhere  than 
at  the  beginning.  Something,  too,  kept  the  mis- 
fortunes of  his  wife  from  his  tongue — an  honour- 
able something,  not  his  own  pride  of  race.  But 
he,  in'fact,  forgot  her.  The  days  were  very  pleasant. 
He  hunted  the  hare,  the  deer,  the  wolf,  the  bear. 
He  hunted  what  he  liked  best  of  all  to  hunt,  the 
man ;  and  he  got  the  honour  which  only  comes 


HIGH   MARCH,  AND   A   GREAT   LADY    133 

from  successful  hunting  in  that  sort — the  devout 
admiration  of  those  he  led.  So  soon  as  it  was 
found  out  where  his  tastes  and  capacities  lay  he 
had  as  much  of  this  work  as  he  chose.  High 
March  was  on  the  northern  borders  of  the 
Countess's  country ;  not  far  off  was  the  Mark- 
stake,  stormy,  debateable  land,  plashy  with  blood. 
There  were  raids,  there  were  hornings  and  burn- 
mgs,  lifting  of  cattle  and  ravishment  of  women, 
to  be  prevented  or  paid  for.  Prosper  saw  service. 
The  High  March  men  had  never  had  a  leader 
quite  like  him — so  young,  so  light  and  fierce,  so 
merry  in  fight.  Isoult  might  eat  her  heart  out 
with  love ;  Prosper  had  the  love  of  his  riders,  for 
by  this  they  were  his  to  a  man. 

There  were  other  influences  at  work,  more 
subtle  and  every  bit  as  rapacious.  There  were 
the  long  hours  in  the  hall  by  the  leaping  light  of 
the  fire  and  the  torches,  feasts  to  be  eaten,  songs 
to  sing,  dances,  revels,  and  such  like.  Prosper 
was  a  cheerful,  very  sociable  youth.  He  had  the 
manners  of  his  father  and  the  light-hearted 
impertinence  of  a  hundred  ancestors,  all  rulers 
of  men  and  women.  He  made  love  to  no  one, 
and  laughed  at  what  he  got  of  it  for  nothing — 
which  was  plenty.  There  were  shaded  hours  in 
the  Countess's  chamber,  where  the  songs  were 
softer  and  the  pauses  of  the  songs  softer  still ; 
morning  hours  in  the  grassy  alleys  between  the 
yew  hedges ;  hours  in  the  south  walk  in  an  air 
thick  with  the  languors  of  warm  earth  and  garden 
flowers ;  intimate  rides  in  the  pine  wood ;  the  wild 
freedom  of  hawking  in  the  open  downs;  the  grass 
paths ;  Yule ;  the  music,  the  hopes  of  youth,  the 


134  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

sweet  familiarity,  the  shared  books,  the  timid  en- 
croachments and  gentle  restraints,  half-entreaties, 
half-denials : — no  young  man  can  resist  these 
things  unless  he  thinks  of  them  suspectingly 
(as  Prosper  never  did),  and  no  woman  wishes  to 
resist  them.  If  Prosper  found  a  sister,  Isabel 
began  to  find  more  than  a  brother.  She  grew 
younger  as  he  grew  older.  They  were  more  than 
likely  to  meet  halfway. 


CHAPTER   XIV 


A    RECORDER 


In  these  delicate  times  of  crisis  Isoult  found 
an  advocate,  a  recorder,  if  you  will  be  ruled  by 
me.  It  was  none  too  soon,  for  the  brother  and 
sister  of  High  March  had  reached  that  pretty 
stage  of  intimacy  when  long  silences  are  an  em- 
barrassment, and  embarrassments  compact  equally 
of  pleasure  and  pain.  As  far  as  the  lady  was 
concerned  the  pleasure  predominated ;  the  pain 
was  reduced  to  sweet  confusion,  the  air  made 
tremulous  with  promise.  I  do  not  say  that  for 
Prosper  the  relationship  did  more  than  put  him 
at  his  ease — but  that  is  a  good  deal.  Say  the 
Countess  was  a  fire  and  High  March  an  arm- 
chair. Prosper  had  settled  himself  to  stretch  his 
legs  and  drowse.  Poor  Isoult  was  the  wailing 
wind  in  the  chimney — a  sound  which  could  but 
add  to  his  comfortable  well-being.  It  needs  more 
than  a  whimper  to  tempt  a  man  to  be  cold  in 
your  company.     The  recorder  was  timely. 

Prosper  and  his  Countess  were  hawking  in  the 
fields  beyond  the  forest,  and  the  sport  had  been 
bad.  They  had,  in  fact,  their  birds  jessed  and 
hooded  and  were  turning  for  home,  when  Prosper 
saw   some   fields   away   a   white    bird — gull    he 

135 


136  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

thought — flying  low.  He  sprang  his  tercel- 
gentle  ;  the  same  moment  the  Countess  saw  the 
quarry  and  flew  hers.  Both  hawks  found  at  first 
cast;  the  white  bird  flew  towards  the  falconers, 
circhng  the  field  in  which  they  stood,  with  its 
enemies  glancing  about  it.  It  gradually  closed 
in,  circling  still  round  them  and  round,  till  at 
last  it  was  so  near  and  so  low  as  almost  to  be  in 
reach  of  Prosper's  hand.  He  saw  that  it  was 
not  a  gull,  but  a  pigeon,  and  started  on  a 
reminiscence.  Just  then  one  of  the  towering 
falcons  stooped  and  engaged.  There  was  a  wild 
scurry  of  wings;  then  the  other  bird  dropt. 
The  Countess  cheered  the  hawks:  Prosper  saw 
only  the  white  bird  with  a  wound  in  her  breast. 
Then  as  the  quarry  began  to  scream  he  re- 
membered ever}'thing,  and  to  the  dismay  of  the 
lady  leapt  off  his  horse,  ran  to  the  struggling 
birds,  and  cuffed  them  off  with  all  his  might. 
He  succeeded.  The  wounded  bird  fluttered, 
half  flying,  half  hopping,  across  the  grass,  finally 
rose  painfully  into  the  air  and  soared  out  of  sight. 
Meantime  Prosper,  breathless  and  red  in  the 
face,  had  hooded  and  bound  the  hawks.  He 
brought  hers  back  to  the  Countess  without  a 
word. 

"  My  dear  Prosper,"  said  she,  "  you  will 
forgive  me  for  asking  if  you  are  mad  ? " 

"I  must  seem  so,"  he  replied.  "But  I  sup- 
pose every  one  has  his  tender  part  which  some 
shaft  will  reach.  Mine  is  reached  when  two 
hawks  wound  a  white  bird  in  the  crop." 

He  spoke  shortly,  and  still  breathed  faster 
than  his  want.     The  Countess  was  piqued. 


A   RECORDER  137 

"  It  seems  to  me,  I  confess,  inconvenient  in  a 
falconer  that  he  should  be  nice  as  to  the  colour 
of  his  quarry.  There  must  be  some  reason  for 
this.  I  will  forgive  you  for  making  a  bad  day's 
sport  worse  if  you  will  tell  me  your  story." 

Prosper  was  troubled.  He  connected  his  story 
with  Isoult,  though  he  could  hardly  say  why. 
He  had  merely  seen  a  white  bird  before  his  mar- 
riage ;  yet  without  that  sequel  the  story  could 
have  no  point.  He  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  his 
marriage,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  was 
much  too  late  to  speak  of  it.  The  other  reasons 
remained  as  valid  as  ever ;  but  he  was  bound  to 
confess  the  superior  cogency  of  this  present  one. 
Meanwhile  the  Countess  clamoured. 

"  The  story,  Prosper,  the  story ! "  she  cried. 
"  I  must  and  will  have  the  story.  I  am  very 
sure  it  is  romantic ;  you  are  growing  red.  Oh, 
it  is  certainly  romantic  ;  I  shall  never  rest  without 
the  story." 

Prosper  in  desperation  remembered  a  hawking 
mishap  of  his  boyhood,  and  clutched  at  it. 

"  This  is  my  story,"  he  said.  "  When  I  was 
a  boy  with  my  brothers  our  father  used  to  take 
us  with  him  hawking  on  Marbery  Down.  There 
is  a  famous  heronry  in  the  valley  below  it  whence 
you  may  be  sure  of  a  kill ;  but  on  the  Down 
itself  are  great  flocks  of  sheep  tended  by 
shepherds  who  come  from  all  parts  of  the 
country  round  about  and  lie  out  by  their  fires. 
One  day — just  such  a  windy  morning  as  this — 
my  father,  my  brother  Osric,  and  I  were  out 
with  our  birds,  and  did  indifferently  well,  so  far 
as  I  can  remember.     I   had  a  new  falcon  with 


138  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

me — a  haggard  of  the  rock  which  I  had  mewed 
and  manned  myself.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had 
tried  her  on  the  Down,  and  she  began  by  giving 
trouble ;  then  did  better,  but  finally  gave  more 
trouble  than  at  first,  as  you  shall  hear.  Towards 
noon  I  found  myself  separate  from  our  company 
on  a  great  ridge  of  the  Down  where  it  slopes 
steeply  to  the  forest,  as  you  know  it  does  in  one 
place.  The  flocks  were  out  feeding  on  the  slopes 
below  me,  and  their  herds — three  or  four  boys 
and  girls — were  lying  together  by  a  patch  of 
gorse,  but  one  of  them  stood  up  after  a  while 
and  shaded  her  eyes  to  look  over  the  forest. 
Then  I  saw  a  lonely  bird  making  way  for  the 
heronry.  I  remember  it  plainly;  in  the  sun  it 
looked  shining-  white.  I  flew  my  haggard  out 
of  the  hood  at  her,  sure  of  a  kill.  She  raked  off 
at  a  great  pace,  as  this  one  did  just  now ;  but  in 
mid  air  she  checked  suddenly,  heeled  over,  beat 
up  against  the  wind,  stooped  and  fell  headlong  at 
the  shepherds.  I  could  not  tell  what  had  hap- 
pened ;  it  was  as  if  the  girl  had  been  shot.  But, 
by  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  this  is  the  truth :  I 
saw  the  girl  who  was  standing  throw  her  arms 
up,  I  heard  her  scream;  the  others  scattered. 
Then  I  saw  the  battling  sails  of  my  falcon.  She 
was  on  the  girl.  I  spurred  my  pony  and  went 
down  the  hill  headlong  to  the  music  of  the  girl's 
screaming.  Never  before  or  since  have  I  seen 
a  peregrine  engage  at  such  a  quarry  as  that. 
She  had  her  with  beak  and  claws  below  the  left 
pap.  She  had  ripped  up  her  clothes  and  drawn 
blood,  sure  enough.  The  poor  child,  who  looked 
very   starved,  was  as  white  as  death :   I  cannot 


A  RECORDER  139 

think  she  had  any  blood  to  spare.  As  for  her 
screaming,  I  have  not  forgotten  it  yet — in  fact, 
the  bird  we  struck  to-day  reminded  me  of  it  and 
made  me  act  as  I  did.  To  cut  down  my  story, 
I  pulled  the  hawk  off  and  strangled  it,  gave  the 
girl  what  money  I  had,  said  what  I  could  to 
quiet  her,  and  left  her  to  be  patched  up  by  her 
friends.  She  was  more  frightened  than  hurt,  I 
fancy.  As  I  told  you,  I  was  a  boy  at  the  time ; 
but  these  things  stay  by  you.  It  is  a  fact  at 
least  that  I  am  queasy  on  the  subject  of  white 
birds.  Before  I  came  to  High  March,  indeed 
it  was  almost  my  first  day  in  Morgraunt,  I  saw 
and  rescued  a  white  bird  from  two  hen-harriers ; 
and  now  I  have  been  troubled  by  another.  I 
seem  beset  by  white  birds  !  " 

"  It  is  fortunate  you  have  other  hues  to  choose 
from,"  said  the  Countess  with  a  smile,  "  or  other- 
wise you  would  be  no  falconer.  But  your  story  is 
very  strange.    Have  you  ever  consulted  about  it  ?  " 

"I  have  said  very  little  about  it,"  Prosper 
replied,  remembering  as  he  spoke  the  forest  Mass 
which  he  had  heard,  and  that  he  had  discoursed 
upon  this  adventure  with  Alice  of  the  Hermitage. 

"The  hawk  pecked  at  the  girl's  heart,"  said 
the  lady. 

"  It  did  not  get  so  far  as  that,  Countess." 

"  You  speak  prose,  my  friend." 

"  I  am  no  troubadour,  but  speak  what  I  know." 

"  The  heart  means  nothing  to  you.  Prosper !  " 

"  The  heart  ?  Dear  lady,  I  assure  you  the  girl 
was  not  hurt.  She  is  a  young  woman  by  now, 
probably  wife  to  a  clown  and  mother  of  half-a- 
dozen." 


I40  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Prosper,  you  disappoint  me.  Let  us  ride  on. 
I  am  sick  of  these  shivering  grey  fields." 

The  Countess  was  vexed,  for  the  life  of  him 
he  could  not  tell  why.  He  made  peace  at  last, 
but  she  would  not  tell  him  the  cause  of  her 
morning's  irritation. 

That  was  not  the  only  reminder  he  had  that 
day — in  fact,  it  was  but  the  first.  In  the  evening 
came  another. 

He  was  in  the  Countess's  chamber  after 
supper.  She  was  embroidering  a  banner,  and  he 
had  been  singing  to  her  as  she  worked.  After 
his  music  the  Countess  took  the  lute  from  him, 
saying  that  she  would  sing.  And  so  she  did, 
but  in  a  voice  so  low  and  constrained  that  it 
seemed  more  to  comfort  herself  than  any  other. 

Prosper  sat  by  the  table  idly  turning  over  a 
roll  of  blazonry — the  coats  of  all  the  knights 
and  gentlemen  who  had  ever  been  in  the  service 
of  High  March.  It  was  a  roll  carefully  kept  by 
the  pursuivant,  very  fine  work.  He  saw  that 
his  own  was  already  tricked  in  its  place,  and 
recognized  many  more  familiar  faces.  Suddenly 
he  gave  a  start,  and  sat  up  stiff  as  a  bar.  He 
looked  no  further,  but  at  the  end  of  the 
Countess's  song  said  abruptly — 

"  Tell  me.  Countess,  whose  are  these  arms  ? " 

She  looked  at  the  coat — sable,  three  wicket- 
gates  argent.  "  There  is  a  story  about  that,"  she 
said. 

"  I  beg  you  to  tell  it  to  me,"  said  Prosper ; 
"  story  for  story." 

"  That  is  only  fair,"  she  laughed,  having  quite 
recovered  her  easy  manner  with  him.     "  Come 


A  RECORDER  141 

and  sit  by  the  fire,  and  you  shall  hear  it.  The 
arms,"  she  began,  "  are  those  which  were  assumed 
by  a  young  knight  after  a  very  bold  exploit 
in  my  service.  He  came  to  me  as  Salomon  de 
Born,  and  I  think  he  was  but  eighteen — a  mere 
boy." 

Prosper,  from  the  heights  of  his  three-and- 
twenty  years,  nodded  benignly. 

"  So  much  so,"  said  the  Countess,  "  that  I 
fear  I  must  have  wounded  his  vanity  by  laughing 
away  what  he  asked  of  me.  This  was  no  less 
than  to  lead  a  troop  of  my  men  against  Renny 
of  Coldscaur,  an  enemy  and  slanderer  of  mine, 
but  none  the  less  as  great  a  lord  as  he  was  rascal. 
However,  he  begged  so  persistently  that  I  gave 
in,  finding  other  things  about  him — a  mystery 
of  his  birth  and  upbringing,  a  steadfastness  also 
and  gravity  far  beyond  his  years — which  drew 
me  to  put  him  to  the  proof  of  what  he  dared. 
He  went,  therefore,  with  a  company  of  light 
horse,  some  fifty  men.  He  was  away  eight 
weeks,  and  then  came  back — with  but  six  men, 
it  is  true ;  but  youth  is  prodigal  of  life,  knowing 
so  little  of  it." 

"  Life  is  given  us  to  spend,"  quoth  Prosper 
here. 

"  He  came  back  with  six  men.  But  he  brought 
the  tongue  of  Blaise  Renny  in  a  silver  cup,  and 
three  wicket-gates,  which  took  two  men  apiece  to 
carry." 

"  He  had  saved  just  enough  men.  That  was 
wise  of  him,  and  like  the  king  his  namesake," 
Prosper  said,  approving  of  Salomon, 

"  It  was  what    he  said    himself,"    pursued  the 


14a  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Countess,  "  that  it  was  a  fortunate  circum- 
stance." 

"  And  how  did  he  win  his  adventure,  and 
what  had  the  wicket-gates  to  do  with  the 
business  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hear.  It  seems  that  Coldscaur, 
which  is  in  North  Marvilion  beyond  the  Middle 
Shires,  stands  on  a  fretted  scarp.  It  is  strongly 
defended  by  art  as  well  as  nature,  for  there  are 
three  ravines  about  it  with  a  stepped  path  through 
each  up  to  the  Castle.  These  were  defended 
about  midway  of  each  by  a  wicket-gate  and  a 
couple  of  towers.  The  gorges  are  so  narrow  that 
there  is  barely  room  for  a  man  and  horse  to  get 
through  ;  the  gates  of  course  correspond." 

"  Fine  defences,"  said  Prosper. 

"  Very.  Well,  Salomon  de  Born  with  my  fifty 
men  seized  and  occupied  a  village  at  the  foot  of 
the  scarp  one  night.  In  the  morning  there  were 
his  defences  thrown  up  man-high,  and  my  standard 
on  the  church  tower.  Renny  was  furious,  and 
despatched  a  stronger  force  than  he  could  afford 
to  re-take  the  village.  Salomon,  counting  upon 
this,  had  left  two  men  in  it  to  be  killed  ;  with  the 
rest  he  scaled  the  scaur  and  waited  in  hiding  to 
see  what  force  Renny  took  out.  He  knew  to  a 
nicety  the  strength  of  the  garrison,  saw  what  there 
was  to  see,  made  his  calculations,  and  thought  he 
would  venture  it.  He  got  over  the  rock,  he  and 
his  men,  by  some  means;  came  down  the  gorges 
from  the  top,  secured  the  defences,  and  posted  a 
couple  of  men  at  each  wicket.  With  the  rest  he 
surprised  the  Castle.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  all 
the  men  in  it  were  killed  as  well  as  most  cf  mine. 


A  RECORDER  143 

Yet  for  three  or  four  hours  Coldscaur  was  in  my 
hands." 

"  It  should  have  been  yours  now,"  said  Prosper, 
*'  with  fifty  of  your  men  once  in  it." 

"  My  friend,  I  didn't  need  Coldscaur.  I  have 
castles  enough.  But  it  was  necessary  to  punish 
Renny." 

"  And  that  was  done  ?  " 

"  It  was  done.  Salomon  posted  his  men  in  the 
towers  by  the  wicket-gates,  and  waited  for  Renny 
to  return  from  the  village.  Luckily  for  him  it 
grew  dusk,  but  not  dark,  before  he  could  be 
certain  by  which  gorge  Renny  himself  was  coming 
in.  When  he  had  made  sure  of  this  he  took  all 
three  wickets  off  their  hinges,  and  sent  six  men  to 
carry  them  home  to  High  March.  With  the 
rest  he  waited  for  Renny.  Finally  he  saw  him 
riding  up  the  stepped  way,  and,  as  his  custom 
was,  far  ahead  of  his  troop.  You  must  know 
that  these  people  are  besotted  with  pride  ;  the 
state  they  kept  (and  still  keep,  I  suppose)  was 
more  than  royal.  No  one  must  ride,  walk,  or 
stand  within  a  dozen  yards  of  Renny  of  Coldscaur. 
Salomon  had  calculated  upon  it.  Well,  it  was 
dark  before  Renny  reached  the  wicket.  Someone 
(Salomon  no  doubt)  called  for  the  word,  Renny 
gave  it;  but  it  was  his  last.  Salomon  stabbed 
him  at  the  same  instant  and  pulled  him  off  his 
horse  out  of  the  way.  He  sent  the  horse  clatter- 
ing up  the  hill.  Renny's  men  followed  it,  nothing 
doubting.  I  might  have  had  the  better  part  of 
my  men  but  for  the  subsequent  foppery  of  the 
youth.  He  had  Renny  dead.  He  had  Renny's 
tongue.    He  must  needs  have  a  silver  dish  to  put 


144  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

it  in,  so  as  to  present  it  honourably  to  me.  He 
went  to  the  Castle  to  get  this.  He  got  it ;  but 
he  was  discovered  and  pursued,  and  only  he  es- 
caped— he  and  the  six  bearers  of  the  wicket-gates. 
That  is  my  story  of  the  coat  in  return  for  yours 
of  the  bird.  The  hero  of  it  took  the  name  of 
Salomon  de  Montguichet  after  this  performance, 
and  my  pursuivant  devised  him  a  blazon,  with  the 
legend,  Entra  per  me!'' 

"  He  did  very  well,"  said  Prosper,  "  though  he 
should  have  fought  with  Renny,  and  not  stabbed 
him  in  the  dark.  But  why  did  he  bring  the 
wicket-gates  ?• " 

"He  said  that  since  they  had  for  once  been 
held  by  honest  men,  he  could  not  let  them  back- 
slide. Moreover,  they  were  in  his  way,  and  he 
knew  not  what  -else  to  do  with  them." 

"  And  why  did  he  take  the  man's  tongue  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  the  head  must  stay  tongueless 
at  Coldscaur  to  warn  all  traducers  of  me.  True 
enough,  the  man  has  come  to  be  remembered  as 
Blaise  Sanslang." 

"  I  should  have  done  otherwise,"  said  Prosper. 

"  What  would  you  have  made  of  it,  Prosper  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  brought  the  man  alive  to  your 
feet ;  I  should  have  advised  you  to  give  him  a 
whipping  and  let  him  go." 

"  That  would  have  been  more  merciless  to 
Renny,  my  friend,  than  what  Salomon  de  Mont- 
guichet did.  I  have  told  you  that  they  are  the 
proudest  family  in  Christendom." 

"  I  never  thought  of  Renny,"  he  answered  ; 
"  I  was  thinking  of  myself  in  Salomon's  place." 

"  Montguichet  thought  of  me,  Prosper." 


A   RECORDER 


145 


"  I  also  was  thinking  of  you,  Countess." 

Presently  he  grew  keen  on  his  own  thoughts 
again  and  asked — 

"  What  became  of  Salomon  de  Born  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  replied,  "  except  this, 
that  he  took  service  under  the  King  of  the 
Romans  and  went  abroad.  Of  where  he  is  now, 
or  how  he  fares,  I  know  nothing." 

"  I  think  he  is  dead,"  said  Prosper. 

"  What  is  your  reason  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  another  carrying  his  arms." 

"But  it  may  have  been  the  man  himself.  A 
thin  man,  hatchet-faced,  with  hot,  large  eyes ;  a 
pale  man,  who  looked  not  to  have  the  sinew  he 
proved  to  have." 

Prosper  looked  thoughtful,  a  little  puzzled 
too.  "  The  description  is  familiar  to  me.  I  may 
have  seen  the  man.  But  certainly  it  was  not  he 
who  carried  the  Montguichet  shield." 

Suddenly  he  sprang  up  with  a  shout.  He 
stood  holding  the  table,  white  and  shaky.  The 
Countess  ran  to  him  and  put  her  arm  on  his 
shoulder :  "  Prosper,  Prosper,  you  have  frightened 
me  !  What  is  your  thought  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  I 
entreat  you  to  tell  me.  Prosper." 

He  collected  himself  at  once  to  reassure  her. 
_  "  The  man  is  dead,"  he  said,  "  and  I  buried 
him.  I  remember  his  face ;  I  remember  a  badge 
on  his  breast;  I  remember  it  all.  But  I  do  not 
understand — I  do  not  see  clearly  as  yet.  I  must 
think.  I  beg  you  to  let  me  leave  you  for  the 
present.  To-morrow  I  will  go  to  avenge  Salomon 
de  Montguichet." 

The  youth  was  quite  wild  and  out  of  breath. 

L 


146  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

"  Prosper ! "  cried  the  Countess,  clinging  to 
him,  "  I  conjure  you  to  tell  me  what  this  means. 
You  will  never  leave  me  this  night  without  a  word. 
You  cannot  know " 

She  could  not  finish  what  she  longed  to  say.  As 
for  Prosper,  he  was  in  another  world ;  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  he  heard  her. 

"  Countess,"  he  said,  "  I  can  tell  you  nothing 
as  yet.  I  know  but  half  of  the  truth.  But  I 
must  find  out  the  whole,  and  to-morrow  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  mean  to  do.  You  must  have  me 
excused  for  this  night." 

She  knew  that  she  could  say  nothing  more, 
although  she  had  never  yet  seen  him  in  this 
mood.  But  he  reminded  her  strongly  of  his 
father;  she  felt  that  he  and  she  had  changed 
places  and  ages.  So  she  bowed  her  head,  and 
when  she  lifted  it  he  was  gone. 

Pacing  his  room  Prosper  tried  to  reason  out 
his  tangle.  This  was  not  so  easy  as  fighting, 
for  he  was  pulled  two  different  ways.  Salomon 
de  Montguichet  was  the  dead  man  whom  the 
lady  had  in  the  wood — that  was  clear.  Galors 
had  Salomon  de  Montguichet's  arms — that  too 
was  clear.  The  trouble  was  to  connect  the  two 
strings.  What  had  Galors  to  do  with  the  lady  ? 
Which  of  them  had  killed  Salomon  de  Mont- 
guichet, or  de  Born,  to  give  him  his  real  name  ? 
How  did  this  threaten  Isoult  ?  For  the  massed 
events  of  the  long  day  drove  him  at  last  face  to 
face  with  Isoult.  He  had  sworn  upon  all  knightly 
honour  to  save  her  neck.  He  thought  he  had 
saved  it,  but  now  he  was  not  so  sure.  There  was 
something  undefinably  sinister,  some  foreboding 


A   RECORDER  147 

about  the  turn  matters  had  taken  (matters  so 
diverse  in  their  beginning)  that  day.  Was  he 
sure  he  had  saved  her  ?  He  must  certainly  be 
sure,  he  thought.  Had  he  not  sworn  ?  And 
after  all,  she  was  his  wife.  That  should  count  for 
something.  He  was  not  disposed  to  rate  marriage 
highly ;  he  knew  very  little  about  it,  but  he  felt 
that  it  should  count  for  something.  The  honour 
of  the  man's  wife  touched  the  honour  of  the  man. 
Again,  she  was  a  very  good  girl.  He  recalled  her 
— submissive,  patient,  recollected,  pacing  beside 
him  on  her  donkey,  as  they  brushed  their  way 
through  brown  beechwoods  and  stained  wet 
bracken.  He  remembered  her  at  her  prayers 
— how  kindly  she  took  to  the  devotion.  She 
was  different  from  the  hour  she  was  a  good 
Christian,  he  swore.  Ah,  so  he  had  given  her 
more  than  a  free  neck  !  He  had  given  her  pride 
in  herself;  nay,  he  had  quickened  a  soul  languid 
for  want  of  spiritual  food.  And  she  looked  very 
well  praying.  She  was  good-looking,  he  thought. 
Oh,  she  was  a  good  girl ! 

But  surely  she  was  well  where  she  was,  could 
hardly  be  better.  Galors  had  a  split  throat ;  he 
would  be  in  Saint  Thorn,  crying  peccavi  in 
chapter,  and  gaining  salvation  with  every  sting 
of  the  scourge.  The  woman  in  the  wood  he 
had  distrusted  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her 
watching  eyes.  She  was  bad  through  and 
through ;  she  might  be  a  worse  enemy  than 
Galors,  or  a  church-load  of  pursy  monks.  But 
it  was  impossible  that  she  should  have  anything 
to  do  with  Galors,  clean  impossible.  And  if  she 
had — why,  he  was  going  to  her  to-morrow,  and 


148  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

would  find  out.  Meantime,  he  would  go  to  bed. 
Yes,  he  might  go  to  bed.  Was  not  Gracedieu  sanc- 
tuary? Ah,  he  had  forgotten  that!  All  was  well. 
He  went  to  bed ;  but  Tortsentier  was  not  to 
see  him  on  the  morrow.  All  was  not  well.  He 
had  a  dream  which  drew  all  the  apprehensions 
and  suspicions  of  the  day  into  one  head.  The 
hidden  things  were  made  plain,  and  the  crooked 
things  straight ;  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed,  he 
was  to  see  openly — when  his  eyes  were  shut.  He 
had,  in  spite  of  himself,  centred  them  one  by 
one  in  Isoult,  and  now  he  dreamed  of  her  as  she 
was,  and  of  them  as  they  were.  This  was  his 
dream.  He  and  she  were  together,  lying  under 
the  stars  in  the  open  wood  with  his  drawn  sword 
between  them,  set  edgeways  as  it  had  always  been. 
He  lay  awake,  but  Isoult  was  asleep,  and  moaning 
in  her  sleep.  The  sound  was  like  voiced  sighs 
which  came  quickly  with  her  breath.  He  lay 
and  watched  her  in  the  perfectly  clear  light  there 
was,  and  presently  the  moaning  ceased,  and  she 
opened  her  eyes  to  look  at  him.  But  though 
they  were  wide,  they  were  blank ;  he  knew  that 
she  slept  still.  She  moved  her  lips  to  speak,  but 
without  sound  ;  she  strained  out  her  arms  to  him, 
but  he  could  not  take  her.  And,  leaning  more 
and  more  towards  him,  the  edge  of  the  sword 
pressed  her  bare  bosom,  yet  she  seemed  not  to 
heed  it;  and  presently  it  broke  the  skin,  and  she 
pressed  it  in  deeper,  as  if  glad  of  the  sharp  pain ; 
and  then  the  blood  leapt  out  and  flooded  her 
night-dress.  Her  arms  dropt,  she  sighed  once, 
she  closed  her  eyes  languidly  as  if  mortally  tired. 
Them  she  lay  very  still,  white  to  the  lips,  and 


A   RECORDER  149 

Prosper  knew  that  she  was  dead.  So  in  his  own 
dream  he  cried  out  and  tried  to  come  at  her,  but 
could  not  because  of  the  red  sword. 

He  woke  in  a  cold  sweat  and  lay  trembling, 
blenched  with  fear.  The  dream  had  been  so 
vivid  that  involuntarily  he  turned  in  his  bed  to 
look  again  at  what  haunted  him,  the  dying  eyes, 
the  white  body,  and  the  blood.  Terror,  when 
once  he  had  accepted  the  fact  that  she  was  dead, 
gave  place  to  pity — a  pity  more  intense  than  he 
had  ever  conceived.  He  had  pitied  her  on  the 
night  of  their  marriage,  but  never  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  felt  heart-broken  at  the  mere  know- 
ledge of  such  things.  And  now,  as  the  principal 
actor  in  a  play,  she  grew  in  importance.  He 
began  to  see  that  she  was  more  than  an  incident ; 
she  was  of  the  stuff  of  his  life.  What  was  more 
odd  was,  that  in  the  dream  he  had  wanted  her, 
as  she  him ;  and  that  he  could  look  back  upon 
it  now  and  understand  the  desire.  With  all  the 
shock  that  still  crowded  about  him  till  the 
shadowy  room  seemed  full  of  it,  there  was  this 
one  beam  of  remembrance,  like  sunhght  in  a 
dusty  place.  He  too  had  held  out  his  arms; 
he  had  wanted  to  take  her,  to  hold  her,  white  and 
unearthly  though  she  might  be — dying  as  she 
certainly  was.  Waking,  this  seemed  very  strange 
to  him,  for  he  had  never  wanted  her  before ;  and 
though  (as  I  say)  the  remembrance  brought  a 
glow  along  with  it,  he  did  not  want  her  in  that 
way  now.  Supposing  that  she  were  alive  and 
lying  here,  he  knew  that  he  should  not  want  her. 
But  the  red  sword!  He  shuddered  and  closed 
his  eyes ;  there  she  was,  pitifully  dead  of  a  wound 


ISO  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

in  the  breast.  I  suppose  he  was  not  more  supersti- 
tious than  most  people  of  his  day,  but  he  knew 
that  he  must  go  to  Gracedieu. 

He  got  up  at  once  to  arm  himself;  he  had 
made  all  his  preparations  before  sunrise.  Then 
he  left  word  for  the  Countess  that  he  would  return 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  set  out. 

The  journey  could  not  be  done  under  three 
days ;  that  gave  him  two  nights  in  the  forest, 
each  of  which  brought  the  same  dream.  He 
arrived  at  the  convent  late  in  the  evening,  and 
asked  to  see  the  Abbess  at  once.  The  tranquil 
monotony  of  the  place,  its  bells  and  recurrent 
chimes,  the  subdued  voices  of  the  nuns  chanting 
an  office  in  choir,  brought  him  like  a  beaten 
ship  into  haven.  He  was  reassured  before  he 
saw  the  Abbess. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  that  lady  in  answer  to  his 
outburst  of  questions,  "  the  child  is  well.  Not 
so  bright  as  during  the  winter  season,  it  may  be ; 
but  the  spring  is  no  easy  time  for  young  people. 
I  may  tell  you,  Sir  Prosper,  that  we  have  grown 
very  fond  of  her.  Indeed,  I  am  often  saying  that 
I  wonder  how  to  do  without  her.  She  is  so 
diligent  and  of  so  toward  a  disposition.  You 
will  find  her  well  cared  for,  sleek,  and  quite  good- 
looking.  We  have  great  hopes  for  her  future 
if  she  makes  a  happy  choice.  But  you  will  wish 
to  see  her  and  prove  my  words.  I  will  send  for 
her  this  moment." 

The  Abbess  had  her  hand-bell  in  her  hand. 
If  she  had  rung  it  she  would  have  given  Prosper 
justification  of  his  hurry.  But  the  complacent 
youth  forestalled  her. 


A   RECORDER  151 

"  I  beg  you,  mother,  to  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  he  said.  "  She  is  well,  you  tell  me,  she 
is  happy :  that  is  all  I  cared  to  know.  I  have 
no  wish  to  unsettle  her,  but  leave  her  cheerfully 
and  confidently  with  you,  being  well  assured 
that  you  will  not  fail  to  send  me  word  at  High 
March  should  need  be." 

"I  understand  you,  sir,  and  agree  with  you. 
You  may  be  quite  easy  about  her.  We  are 
regular  livers,  as  you  may  guess,  and  small  events 
are  great  ones  to  us.  So  you  return  to  High 
March  ?  I  will  beg  you  to  carry  with  you  my 
humble  duty  to  her  ladyship  the  Countess.  She 
is  well  r  " 

"  She  is  very  well,"  said  Prosper,  and  took  his 
leave. 

A  frantic  Gracedieu  messenger  started  half  a 
night  behind  him,  but  was  stopped  on  Two 
Manors  Waste  by  a  party  of  outlaws,  robbed  of 
his  letters,  and  hanged.  Prosper's  dream  visited 
him  for  two  nights  of  his  journey  back,  and  four 
nights  at  High  March ;  but  as  no  word  or  other 
warning  came  from  Gracedieu  to  give  it  point,  he 
grew  to  have  some  strange  liking  for  it,  since  he 
knew  that  it  meant  nothing.  It  gave  him  new 
thoughts  of  Isoult ;  it  convinced  him,  for  instance, 
that  since  the  girl  was  so  good  she  must  be 
affectionate  when  you  came  to  know  her.  His 
own  share  in  the  nightly  performance  he  could 
now  set  in  humorous  comparison  with  his  waking 
state.  He  found  it  difficult  to  believe  in  the  self 
of  his  dream,  and  was  almost  curious  to  see 
Isoult  that  he  might  pursue  his  juxtapositions. 
At  this  rate  she  filled  his  waking  thoughts  as  well 


152  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

as  his  nights.  The  Countess  was  not  slow  to 
perceive  that  Prosper  was  changed  and  she 
affected.  His  songs  came  less  willingly  from 
him,  his  sallies  were  either  languid  or  too  polite 
to  be  from  the  heart  of  the  youth,  who  could 
make  hers  beat  so  fast.  Thinking  that  he  wanted 
work,  she  devised  an  expedition  for  him  which 
might  involve  some  danger  and  the  lives  of  a 
dozen  men.  But  she  counted  that  lightly.  He 
went  on  the  fourth  day  after  his  return  from 
Gracedieu,  and  the  expedition  proved  effectual  in 
more  ways  than  one. 

The  dream  stopped,  and  he  forgot  it. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THREE    AT    TORTSENTIER 

At  Tortsentier  there  was  very  little  daylight, 
because  the  trees  about  it  formed  a  thick  wall. 
The  branches  of  the  pines  tapped  at  the  windows 
on  one  side ;  on  the  other  they  linked  arms  with 
their  comrades,  and  so  stood  for  a  mile  on  all 
sides  of  the  tower.  Paths  there  were  none,  nor 
ways  to  come  by  unless  you  were  free  of  the 
place.  The  winter  storms  moaned,  lashed  them- 
selves above  it,  yet  below  were  hushed  down  to  a 
long  sighing.  The  quiet  visitations  of  the  snow, 
the  dripping  of  the  autumn  rains,  the  sun's  force, 
the  trap-bite  of  the  frost,  or  that  new  breath  that 
comes  stealing  through  woodlands  in  spring,  were 
all  strangers  alike  to  the  carpet  of  brown  needles 
about  Maulfry's  hold.  No  birds  ever  sang  there. 
Death  and  a  great  mystery,  the  dark,  air  like  a 
lake's  at  noon,  kept  fur  and  feather  from  Tort- 
sentier, and  left  Maulfry  alone  with  what  she  had. 

Within,  it  was  a  spacious  place.  A  great  hall 
ran  the  whole  height  (although  not  the  whole 
area)  of  it,  having  a  gallery  midway  up  whence 
you  gained  what  other  chambers  there  were. 
Below  the  gallery  were  deep  alcoves  hung  with 
tapestry  (of  which  Maulfry  was  a  diligent  worker), 

153 


154  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

and  thickened  with  curtains;  between  every  alcove 
hung  trophies  of  shields  and  arms.  Mossy  carpets, 
skins,  and  piled  cushions  were  on  the  floor ;  the 
place  smelt  of  musk :  it  was  lighted  by  coloured 
torches  and  lamps,  and  warmed  with  braziers.  It 
was  by  a  spiral  stair  that  you  found  the  gallery 
and  doors  of  the  other  rooms,  or  as  many  of  them 
as  it  was  fitting  you  should  find.  There  were 
doors  there  which  were  no  doors  at  all  unless 
occasion  served.  These  rooms  had  windows; 
but  the  hall  had  only  a  lantern  in  the  roof,  and 
its  torches.  From  all  this  it  will  appear  that 
Isoult  was  a  prisoner,  since  a  prisoner  you  are  if, 
although  you  can  go  out,  there  is  nowhere  for 
you  to  go ;  if,  further,  your  hostess  neither  goes 
out  herself  nor  gives  you  occasion  to  leave  her. 
Yet  Maulfry  made  her  guest  elaborately  free  of 
the  place. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  "  you  see  how  I  live  here. 
My  trees,  my  birds — "  she  had  many  birds  in 
cages — "  my  collections  of  arms  and  arras  and 
odd  books,  are  my  friends  for  want  of  better.  If 
you  can  help  me  to  any  such  I  shall  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you.  Other  friends  I  have — yourself 
I  may  count  among  them,  one  other  you  know, — 
but  they  are  of  the  world,  and  refuse  to  hang  upon 
my  walls.  Sometimes  they  pay  me  a  visit,  stay 
for  a  little  season,  remonstrate,  argue  with  me, 
shrug,  and  leave  me  gladder  than  I  was  to  receive 
them.  I  am  a  hermit,  my  child,  when  all's  said. 
These  other  friends,  these  more  constant  friends, 
on  the  other  hand,  suit  me  better.  They  talk  to 
me  when  I  bid  them,  are  silent  when  I  want  to 
think.      They  have  no  vapours,   unless    I   give 


THREE    AT   TORTSENTIER  155 

them  of  mine,  no  airs  but  what  I  choose  to  find 
in  them.  And  they  are  complaisant,  they  seek 
nothing  beyond  my  entertainment.  My  friends 
from  outside  come  to  please  themselves  and  to 
take  what  they  can  of  my  store.  Sometimes  they 
take  each  other.  One  of  them  (not  unknown  to 
my  Isoult!)  will  come  before  long — he  is  overdue 
now — and  find  my  store  enriched.  I  doubt  he 
will  turn  thief  You  may  well  blush,  child,  for, 
apart  that  it  becomes  you  admirably,  thieving 
is  a  sin,  and  naturally  you  cannot  approve  of  it. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  he  has  rifled  no  treasury  already. 
There,  there,  I  have  your  word  for  it ;  but  you 
know  my  way !  Living  alone  in  the  woods  at  a 
distance  from  men,  which  makes  them  ants  in  a 
swarm  for  me,  I  become  a  philosopher.  Can  you 
wonder  ? " 

To  such  harangues,  delivered  with  a  pretty  air 
of  mockery  and  extravagance,  which  was  never 
allowed  to  get  out  of  hand,  Isoult  listened  as  she 
had  listened  to  the  cheerful  prophetics  of  the 
Abbess  of  Gracedieu,  with  her  gentle  smile  and 
her  locked  lips.  Maulfry  talked  by  the  hour 
together  while  she  and  Isoult  sat  weaving  a 
tapestry.  For  the  philosopher  which  it  seemed 
she  was,  the  subject  of  the  piece  was  very  pleasant. 
It  was  the  story  of  Troilus  and  Cresseide,  no  less, 
wherein  Sir  Pandarus  (departing  from  the  custom) 
was  represented  a  young  man  of  tall  and  handsome 
presence,  and  the  triangle  of  lovers  like  children. 
Diomede  was  an  apple-cheeked  school-boy, Troilus 
had  a  tunic  and  bare  legs,  Cresseide  in  her  spare 
moments  dandled  a  doll.  Calchas,  for  his  part, 
kept  a  dame-school  in  this  piece,  which  for  the 


156  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

rest  was  treated  with  a  singular  freedom.  Isoult, 
poor  girl,  was  occasionally  troubled  at  her  part  of 
the  work ;  but  the  philosopher  laughed  heartily 
at   her. 

"  What  ails  thee  with  the  piece,  child  ?  "  she 
would  cry  out  in  her  hearty  way.  "  Dost  thou 
think  lovers  are  men  and  women,  to  be  taken 
seriously  ?  It  is  to  be  hoped  they  are  not,  for- 
sooth !  For  if  they  are  not  innocent,  what  shall 
be  said  of  their  antics  ?  "  and  more  to  the  same 
tune. 

While  affecting  to  treat  lier  with  freedom, 
Maulfry  kept  in  reality  a  steady  rein. 

"  Go  out  ?  "  she  would  cry  in  mock  dismay,  at 
the  least  hint  of  such  a  wish  from  the  girl — - 
"  why  under  the  sun  should  we  go  out  ?  To  see 
a  thicket  of  twigs  and  breathe  rotten  vapours  "^ 
Or  do  you  think  we  have  processions  passing  in 
and  out  of  the  tree-trunks?  Ah,  minx,  'tis  a 
procession  of  one  you  would  be  spying  for ! 
Nay,  nay,  never  look  big  eyes  at  me,  child.  I 
know  your  processioner  better  than  you.  He  will 
come  in  his  time  ;  and  whether  he  come  through 
the  door  or  down  the  stairs  I  cannot  tell  you  yet. 
Who  taught  you,  pray,  that  he  was  in  the  wood  ? 
Not  I,  I  vow.  Why  should  he  not  be  skulking 
in  the  blue  alcove  awaiting  the  hour  ?  You  look 
thither  ;  how  you  kindle  at  a  word  !  Well,  well, 
go  and  see  for  yourself  if  he  is  in  the  blue 
alcove." 

Poor  trembling  Isoult  went  on  tiptoe,  was  fool 
enough  to  peep  through  the  curtains,  but  good 
soul  enough  to  take  Maulfry 's  railing  in  fair  part. 
She  got  as  much  as  she  deserved,  and  the  joke 


THREE  AT  TORTSENTIER  157 

was  none  too  good  perhaps ;  but  as  a  trick,  it 
sufficed  to  keep  her  on  the  fine  edge  of  expecta- 
tion. She  dared  not  go  out  for  fear  of  missing 
Prosper.  She  grew  so  tight-strung  as  to  doubt  of 
nothing.  Had  Maulfry  told  her  he  would  be 
with  them  to  supper  on  such  and  such  a  night, 
she  would  have  come  shaking  to  the  meal,  rosy  as 
a  new  bride,  nothing  doubting  but  that  the  next 
lift  of  her  shy  eyes  would  reveal  him  before  her. 
Thus  Maulfry  by  hints  in  easy  degrees  led  her 
on  ;  and  not  only  did  she  not  dare  to  go  out,  but 
she  lost  all  wish  to  peer  for  him  in  the  wood, 
because  she  had  been  led  to  the  conviction  that 
he  was  actually  in  the  tower — a  mysterious,  har- 
boured visitant  who  would  appear  late  or  soon, 
obedient  to  his  destiny.  A  door  even  was  pointed 
at,  smiled  and  winked  at,  passed  by  light-foot  as 
they  went  along  the  gallery.  Maulfry  had  a 
biting  humour  which  sometimes  led  her  further 
than  she  was  aware. 

She  kept  Isoult  in  a  fever  by  her  tricks  ;  by 
this  particular  trick  she  risked  a  different  fire — 
jealousy.  For  of  the  four  persons  who  made  up 
the  household,  she  alone  went  behind  that  door. 
Vincent,  the  young  page,  brought  food  and  wine 
to  the  threshold  ;  Maulfry  came  out  and  took 
them  in.  But  there  she  was  perfectly  safe.  Isoult 
could  never  be  jealous  of  Prosper ;  she  would 
despair,  but  would  resent  nothing  he  might  do. 
Jealousy  requires  two  things  exorbitantly — self- 
love  and  a  sensitive  surface.  Isoult  loved  Love 
and  Prosper — the  two  in  one  glorious  image  ;  and 
as  for  her  surface,  that,  like  the  rest  of  her,  body 
and  soul,  was  his  when  Love  allowed.     Nor  was 


158  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

she  even  curious,  at  first.  Many  thrashings, 
acquaintance  with  her  world  which  was  close  if 
not  long,  and  a  deeply-driven  scorn  of  herself 
threw  her  blindly  upon  the  discretion  of  the  only 
man  she  had  ever  found  to  be  at  once  splendid 
and  humane.  What  he  chose  Vv^as  the  law  and 
what  he  declared  the  prophets.  But  she  might 
get  curious  on  other  grounds,  on  grounds  where 
destiny  and  suchlike  mannish  appendages  did  not 
hold  up  a  finger  at  her.     And  in  fact  she  did. 

Meantime  Maulfry  took  charge  of  her  body 
and  will.  Isoult  was  obedient  in  everything  but 
one.  Maulfry,  who  always  saw  the  girl  undress 
and  go  to  bed,  objected  to  her  prayers. 

"  Pray !  "  she  would  call  out,  "  for  what  and  to 
what  do  you  pray  ?  Pray  to  your  husband  when 
you  have  one,  and  he  will  give  you  according  to 
your  deserts,  which  he  alone  can  appraise.  Trust 
him  for  that.  But  to  crave  boons  you  know  little 
of,  from  a  God  of  whom  you  know  nothing  at  all, 
save  that  you  made  him  in  your  own  image — what 
profit  can  that  be  ?  " 

To  which  Isoult  replied — "  He  told  me  always 
to  pray,  ma'am,  and  I  cannot  disobey  any  of  his 
words." 

"Ah,  I  remember  he  was  given  to  the  game. 
Hum  !     And  what  else  did  he  tell  you,  child  ?  " 

"  Deal  justly,  live  cleanly,  breathe  sweet  breath," 
Isoult  answered  in  a  whisper,  as  if  she  were  in 
church ;  "  praise  God  when  He  is  kind,  bow  head 
and  knees  when  He  is  angry,  look  for  Him  to  be 
near  at  all  times.  Do  this,  and  beyond  it  trust 
to  thine  own  heart." 


THREE   AT  TORTSENTIER  159 

Maulfry  pished  and  pshawed  at  this  hushed 
oracle.  "You  would  do  better  to  eat  well  and 
sleep  sofdy.  'Twould  bring  you  nearer  your 
heart's  desire.     Men  like  a  girl  to  be  sleek." 

But  in  this  Isoult  had  her  way,  though  she 
said  her  prayers  in  bed.  In  all  else  she  was  meek 
as  a  mouse.  Maulfry  made  her  dress  to  suit  her 
own  taste,  and  let  down  her  hair.  The  dress  was 
of  thin  silk,  fitted  close,  and  was  cut  low  in  the 
neck.  Isoult,  who  had  known  pinned  rags,  and 
had  gone  feet  and  legs  bare  without  a  thought, 
went  now  as  if  she  were  naked,  or  clothed  only  in 
her  shame.  But  it  was  the  fashion  Maulfry 
adopted  towards  her  own  person,  and  there  were 
no  others  to  convict  her.  Nanno  the  old  serving- 
woman  and  Vincent  the  page,  who  was  only  a 
boy,  made  up  the  household — except  for  the 
closed  door.  Nanno  never  looked  at  anything 
higher  than  the  ground  ;  and  as  for  Vincent,  he 
was  in  love  with  Isoult,  and  would  sooner  have 
looked  at  Christ  in  judgment. 

Of  those  two  people  Nanno  was  believed  to 
be  dumb;  Isoult,  at  least,  never  got  speech  of 
her.  Vincent,  who  was  treated  by  Maulfry  as 
if  he  had  been  a  mechanism,  was  a  very  simple 
machine.  If  Maulfry  had  been  less  summary 
with  him  she  might  have  prevented  the  inevitable  ; 
but  like  all  people  with  brains  she  thought  a 
simpleton  was  an  ass,  and  kicks  your  only  speech 
with  such.  Vincent  and  Isoult,  therefore,  became 
friends  as  the  days  went  on.  Maulfry's  cage- 
birds  drew  their  heads  together,  and  in  Vincent's 
case,  at  any  rate,  it  was  not  long  before  the  blood 
began  to  beat  livelier  for  the  contact.     Isoult  was 


i6o  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

as  simple  as  he  was,  and  concealed  nothing  from 
him  that  came  up  in  their  talks  together.  She 
knew  much  more  than  he  about  birds,  about 
the  woods,  the  country  beyond  the  forest — great 
rolling  sheep-pastures,  dim  stretches  of  fen,  sleepy 
rivers,  the  heaths  and  open  lands  about  Malbank. 
Of  all  these  things  which  came  to  him  through 
her  voice  almost  with  a  breath  of  their  own  roving 
air,  he  knew  absolutely  nothing,  whereas  there  was 
very  little  county-lore  which  she  did  not  know. 
She  seemed  indeed  to  him  a  woodland  creature 
herself,  in  touch  with  the  birds  and  beasts.  She 
could  put  her  hand  into  a  cage  full  of  them ;  the 
little  twinkling  eyes  were  steady  upon  her,  but 
there  was  no  fluttering  or  beating  at  the  bars. 
Her  hand  closed  on  the  bird,  drew  it  out :  the 
next  minute  it  was  free  upon  her  shoulder,  peep- 
ing into  her  sidelong  face.  She  could  hold  it  up 
to  her  lips :  it  would  take  the  seed  from  her.  The 
horses  knew  her  call  and  her  speaking  voice.  They 
would  go  and  come,  stand  or  start,  as  she  whis- 
pered in  their  pricked  ears.  Vincent  thought  she 
might  easily  be  a  fairy.  But,  "  No,  Vincent,"  she 
would  say  to  that,  "  I  am  a  very  poor  girl,  poorer 
than  you." 

One  day  Vincent  disputed  this  point. 

"  You  go  in  silks  and  have  pearls  on  your 
head." 

"  They  are  not  mine,  Vincent." 

"  My  mistress  loves  you." 

"  Oh,  in  love  I  am  very  rich,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Everybody  would  love  you,  I  think,"  he 
dared. 

But  she  shook  her  head  at  this. 


THREE    AT   TORTSENTIER  i6i 

"  I  have  not  found  that.  I  am  not  sure  of 
anybody's  love." 

"  I  know  of  one  person  of  whom  you  may  be 
very  sure,"  said  the  boy,  out  of  breath. 

"But  I  never  meant  that  when  I  said  I  was  rich. 
I  meant  that  I  was  rich  in  love,  not  in  being  loved. 
Ah,  no!" 

"  You  ask  not  to  be  loved,  Isoult  ? " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  impossible  to  be  loved  as  I 
mean,  as  I  love." 

"  I  would  like  to  know  that.  Whom  do  you 
love  ." 

"Why,  my  lord,  of  course!  Must  I  not  love 
my  lord  ? " 

"  Your  lord ! "  stammered  Vincent,  red  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  "  Your  lord !  I  never  knew 
that  you  loved  a  lord."  He  gulped,  and  went 
on  at  random — "And  where  is  your  lord  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  He  may  be  in  this  castle.  I 
only  know  that  I  shall  see  him  when  his  time 
comes." 

"If  he  is  in  this  castle,  Isoult,"  said  Vincent, 
sober  again,  "  his  time  is  not  yet." 

She  caught  her  breath. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  she  panted. 

"  I  know  that  there  is  a  great  lord  in  the  Red 
Chamber,  him  that  Madam  Maulfry  tends  with 
her  own  hands." 

"  Ah,  ah !     You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  him.     He  is  very  ill." 

Isoult  gazed  at  him,  shocked  to  the  soul.  Hi, 
and  she  not  near  by ! 

*'Oh,  Vincent,"  she  whispered.    "Oh,  Vincent ! " 

'*  Yes,    Isoult," — Vincent    had    caught    some 

M 


i62  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

breath  of  her  horror,  and  whispered, — *''  Yes, 
Isoult,  he  is  very  ill.  He  has  been  ill  since 
the  autumn,  with  bleeding  and  bleeding  and 
bleeding.  I  know  that  is  true,  though  I  have 
never  seen  him  since  he  was  brought  here  swathed 
up  in  a  litter;  but  I  once  saw  Madam  Maulfry 
bury  something  in  the  wood,  very  early  in  the 
morning.  And  I  was  frightened.  Ah !  I  have 
seen  strange  things  here,  such  as  I  dare  not 
utter  even  now.  So  I  watched  my  time  and  dug 
up  what  she  had  concealed.  They  were  bloody 
clothes,  Isoult,  very  many  of  them,  and  ells 
long!     So  it  is  true." 

Isoult  swayed  about  like  a  broken  bough. 
Vincent  ran  to  catch  her,  fearing  she  would  fall. 
He  felt  the  shaking  of  her  body  under  his  hands. 
That  frightened  him.     He  began  to  beseech. 

"  Isoult,  dear  Isoult,  I  have  hurt  you,  I  who 
would  rather  die,  I  who — am  very  fond  of  you, 
Isoult.  Look  now,  be  yourself  again — think  of 
this.  He  may  not  be  ill  by  now ;  he  is 
likely  much  better.  I  will  find  out  for  you. 
Trust  me  to  find  it  all  out." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  whispered  in  haste ;  "  you 
must  do  nothing,  can  do  nothing.  This  is  mine. 
I  will  find  out." 

"Will  you  ask  Madam  Maulfry?"  said  Vin- 
cent. "  She  will  kill  me  if  she  knows  that  I  have 
told  you.  Not  that  I  mind  that,"  he  added  in 
his  own  excuse,  "  but  you  will  gain  nothing  that 
way." 

"No,"  Isoult  answered  curtly.  "I  will  find 
out  by  myself.  Hush  !  Some  one  is  coming. 
Go  now." 


THREE    AT  TORTSENTIER  163 

Vincent  went  slowly  away,  for  he  too  heard  the 
sweep  of  Maulfry's  robe.  There  was  a  long 
looking-glass  in  the  wall,  flickering  over  which 
Isoult's  eyes  encountered  their  own  woeful  image 
— brooding,  reproachful,  haunted  eyes ;  this  would 
never  do  for  her  present  business.  Determined 
to  meet  craft  with  craft,  she  wried  her  mouth  to 
a  smile,  she  drove  peace  into  her  eyes,  took  a 
bosomful  of  breath,  and  turned  to  be  actress  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life.  This  meant  to  realize 
and  then  express  herself.  She  was  like  to  become 
an  artist. 

Towards  the  end  of  that  night  her  brain  swam 
with  fatigue.  She  had  had  to  study,  first 
Maulfry,  second,  her  new  self,  third,  her  old 
self.  In  studying  Maulfry  she  began  uncon- 
sciously to  prepare  for  the  shock  to  come — the 
shock  of  a  free-given  faith,  than  which  no  crisis 
can  be  more  exquisite  for  a  child.  So  far, 
however,  she  had  no  cause  to  distrust  her  chate- 
laine's honour,  nor  even  her  judgment.  Both, 
she  doubted  not,  were  in  Prosper's  keeping. 

Maulfry  was  in  a  gay,  malicious  humour. 
She  pinched  Isoult's  cheek  when  she  met  her. 

"  Tired  of  waiting,  my  minion  ?  "  she  began. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  am  not  tired  at  all." 

"That  is  well.  I  went  by  the  eye-shine.  So 
you  are  still  patient  for  the  great  reward  !  Well, 
build  not  too  high,  my  dear.  All  men  are  alike, 
as  I  find  them." 

"  My  reward  is  to  serve,  ma'am,  not  to  win." 

"  It  is  a  reward  one  may  weary  of  with  time. 
There  may  be  too  much  service  where  the 
slave    is    willing,    child.      But   to    win    gives    an 


164  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

appetite  for  more  winning;  and  so  the  game 
goes  on." 

Again,  later  on,  she  said — 

"  I  should  like  him  to  see  you  to-night,  child. 
He  would  be  more  malleable  set  near  such  a  fire. 
Your  cheeks  are  burning  bright!  As  for  your 
big  eyes,  I  believe  you  burnish  them.  Do  you 
know  how  handsome  you  are,  I  wonder  ? " 

"No  one  has  ever  told  me  that  but  you, 
ma'am,"  said  Isoult,  demure. 

"  Pooh,  your  glass  will  have  told  you.  They 
don't  lie." 

"  I  never  had  a  glass  till  I  came  here.  Not 
even  at  the  convent." 

"And  did  you  never  get  close  enough  to  use 
somebody's  eyes  ?  "  said  Maulfry,  with  a  sly  look. 

Isoult  had  nothing  to  say  to  this.  Touch  her 
on  the  concrete  of  her  love,  and  she  was  always 
dumb. 

"Well  then,  I  will  stay  flattering  you,  and 
advise,"  Maulfry  pursued.  "When  that  august 
one  chooses  to  unveil,  do  you  present  yourself  on 
knees  as  you  now  are.  In  two  minutes  you  will 
not  be  on  your  own,  but  on  his,  if  I  know 
mankind." 

Isoult  changed  the  talk. 

"  Do  you  know,  or  can  you  tell  me,  when  my 
lord  will  come  out,  ma'am  ? "  she  ventured. 

"  Come  out,  child  ?  Out  of  what  ?  Out  of  a 
box  ?  "  Maulfry  cried  in  mock  rage.  "  'Tis  my 
belief  you  know  as  much  as  I  do.  'Tis  my 
belief  you  have  been  at  a  keyhole." 

Mockery  gave  way;  the  matter  was  serious. 

"  Remember   now,  Isoult,  in  doing  that   you 


THREE    AT   TORTSENTIER  165 

will  disobey  a  greater  than  I,  and  as  good  a 
friend.  And  remember  what  disobedience  may 
mean/' 

Again  she  changed  her  tone  m  view  of  Isoult's 
collapse. 

"You  look  reproaches,"  she  said;  "your  eyes 
seem  to  say,  like  a  wounded  hare's,  '  Strike  me 
again.  I  must  quiver,  but  I  will  never  run.'  So, 
child,  so,  I  was  but  half  in  earnest.  You  are  an 
obedient  child,  and  so  I  will  tell  Messire,  if  by 
any  chance  I  should  see  him  first."  And  so  on, 
until  they  went  to  bed. 

When  at  last  that  breathing  space  came,  Isoult 
was  nearly  choked  with  the  fatigue  of  her  artistic 
escapades;  but  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  As 
soon  as  she  dared  she  got  up  in  the  dark,  put  her 
cloak  over  her  night-dress,  and  crept  out  into  the 
gallery.  The  door  creaked  as  she  opened  it ;  she 
stood  white  and  quailing,  while  her  heart  beat  like 
a  hammer.  But  nothing  stirred.  She  went  first 
to  Maulfry's  door  and  listened.  She  heard  her 
breathing.  All  fast  there.  Then  like  a  hare  she 
fled  on  to  the  door  she  knew  so  well.  There  was 
a  light  under  it :  she  heard  a  rustle  as  of  paper  or 
parchment.  Whoever  was  there  was  turning  the 
leaves  of  a  book.  In  the  silence  which  seemed  to 
press  upon  her  ears  and  throb  in  them,  she  de- 
bated with  herself  what  she  should  do.  She  knew 
that  there  was  indeed  no  question  about  it.  If 
he  was  ill,  everything — all  her  humility  and  all 
his  tacit  authority — must  give  way.  There  was 
but  one  place  for  a  wife.  Maulfry  did  not  know 
she  was  his  wife.  She  listened  again.  Inside 
the  room  she  now  heard  some  one  shift  in  bed, 


i66  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

and — surely  that  was  a  low  groan.  Oh,  Lord! 
Oh,  Love  !  She  turned  the  handle ;  she  stood  in 
the  door-way ;  she  saw  Galors  sitting  up  in  bed 
with  a  book  on  his  knees,  a  lamp  by  his  side. 
His  sick  face,  bandaged  and  swathed,  glowered 
at  her,  with  great  hollow  eyes  and  a  sour  mouth 
dropped  at  one  corner. 

She  stood  unable  to  move  or  cry. 

"  All  is  well,  dear  friend,"  said  Galors;  "  I  did  but 
shift  and  let  a  little  curse.     Go  to  bed,  Maulfry." 

Isoult  had  the  wit  to  withdraw.  What  little 
she  had  left  after  that  pointed  a  shaking  finger  at 
one  thing  only — flight.  She  had  been  unutterably 
betrayed.  Her  conception  of  the  universe  reeled 
over  and  was  lost  in  fire.  There  was  no  time 
to  think  of  it,  none  to  be  afraid ;  she  did  what 
there  was  to  do  swiftly,  with  a  clearer  head 
than  she  had  believed  herself  capable  of.  She 
slipt  back  to  her  room  without  doubt  or 
terror,  and  put  on  the  clothes  in  which  she  had 
come  from  the  convent,  a  grey  gown  with  a 
leather  girdle,  woollen  stockings,  thick  shoes — 
over  all  a  long  red  hooded  cloak.  This  done  she 
stood  a  moment  thinking.  No,  she  dare  not  try 
the  creaking  door  again ;  the  window  must  serve 
her  turn.  She  opened  it  and  looked  out. 
Through  the  fretty  tracery  of  the  firs  she  could 
see  a  frosty  sky,  blue-grey  fining  to  green,  green 
to  yellow  where  the  moon  swam  hard  and  bright. 
There  was  not  a  breath  of  air. 

She  climbed  at  once  on  to  the  window-ledge, 
and  stood,  holding  to  the  jamb,  looking  down  at 
the  black  below. 

A   great  branch  ran  up  to  the  wall  at  a  right 


THREE    AT   TORTSENTIER  167 

angle ;  it  seemed  made  for  her  intent.  Sitting 
with  your  legs  out  of  the  window  it  was  easy  to 
take  hold  of  a  branch.  She  tried  ;  it  was  easy, 
but  not  in  a  cloak.  So  she  sat  again  on  the  sill, 
took  off  her  cloak,  and  tried  once  more.  Soon  she 
was  out  of  the  window,  swinging  by  the  branch. 
Then  her  feet  touched  another,  and  very  slowly 
(for  she  was  panic-stricken  at  the  least  noise)  she 
worked  her  way  downwards  to  the  trunk  of  the 
great  tree.  Once  there  it  was  easy  ;  she  was  soon 
on  the  ground.  But  she  had  no  notion  what  to 
do  next,  save  that  she  must  do  it  at  once — whither 
to  turn,  how  to  get  out  of  the  wood  the  best  and 
safest  way.  Then  another  thing  struck  her. 
She  would  be  chased,  that  was  of  course.  She 
had  been  chased  before,  and  tracked,  and  caught. 
Little  as  she  could  dare  that,  what  chance  had 
she,  a  young  girl  flying  loose  in  this  part  of  the 
forest,  a  young  girl  decently  dressed,  looking  as 
she  knew  now  that  she  looked  ;  what  chance  had 
she  indeed?  Well,  what  was  she  to  do?  She 
remembered  Vincent. 

Vincent  and  Nanno  did  not  sleep  in  the  tower : 
that  would  have  been  inconvenient  in  Maulfry's 
view.  They  had  a  little  outhouse  not  ten  paces 
from  it,  and  slept  there.  Thither  went  Isoult, 
jumping  at  every  snapt  twig;  the  door  yielded 
easily,  but  which  bed  should  she  try  ?  Nanno, 
she  knew,  snored,  for  Vincent  had  once  made  her 
laugh  by  recounting  his  troubles  under  the  spell 
of  it.  Well,  the  left-hand  bed  was  undoubtedly 
Nanno's  at  that  rate;  Isoult  went  to  the  right- 
hand  bed  and  felt  delicately  with  her  hand  at  its 
head.     Vincent's  curls! 


1 68  THE   FOREST    LOVERS 

Then  she  knelt  down  and  put  her  face  close  to 
the  boy's,  whispering  in  his  ear. 

"Whisper,  Vincent,  whisper,"  she  said;  "whis- 
per hack  to  me.  Do  you  love  me,  Vincent  ? 
Whisper." 

"  You  know  that  I  love  you,  Isoult,"  Vincent 
whispered. 

"Hush!  not  too  loud,"  said  she  again.  "Vin- 
cent, will  you  get  up  and  come  into  the  wood 
with  me  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  Will 
you  come  very  quietly  indeed  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Vincent.  The  whole  breathless 
intercourse  worked  into  his  dreams  of  her  ;  but 
he  woke  and  sat  up. 

*'  Come,"  said  Isoult.  She  crept  out  again  to 
wait  for  him. 

Vincent  came  out  in  his  night-gown.  The 
moon  showed  him  rather  scared,  but  there  was 
no  doubt  about  his  sentiments.  Love-blind 
Isoult  herself  could  have  no  doubt.  She  lost 
no  time. 

"  Vincent,  I  must  tell  you  everything.  I  shall 
be  in  your  hands,  at  your  mercy.  I  must  go 
away  at  once,  Vincent.  If  I  stay  another  hour  I 
shall  never  see  the  daylight  again.  They  will  kill 
me,  Vincent,  or  do  that  which  no  one  can  speak 
of.  Then  I  shall  kill  myself.  This  is  quite  true. 
I  have  seen  something  to-night.  There  is  no 
doubt  at  all.     Will  you  help  me,  Vincent  ?  " 

Vincent  gaped  at  her.  "  How — what — why — 
what  shall  I  do  ? "  he  murmured,  beginning  to 
tremble.  "  Oh,  Isoult,  you  know  how  I — what  I 
whispered — ! " 

"  Yes,    yes,    I    know.     That    is   why  I   came. 


THREE  AT  TORTSENTIER  169 

You  must  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you.  You 
must  lend  me  some  of  your  clothes,  any  that 
you  have,  now,  at  once.     Will  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  My  clothes !  "  he  began  to  gasp. 

"  Yes.  Go  and  get  them,  please.  But  make 
no  noise,  for  the  love  of  Christ." 

Vincent  tip-toed  back.  He  returned,  after  a 
time  of  dreadful  rummaging  in  the  dark,  with  a 
bundle. 

"  I  have  brought  what  I  could  find.  They  are 
all  there.  I  could  not  bring  what  I  put  on  every 
day,  for  many  reasons.  These  are  the  best  I 
have.  How  will  you — can  you — ?  They  are 
not  easy  to  put  on,  I  think,  for  a  girl." 

Poor  Vincent !  Isoult  had  no  time  nor  heed 
for  the  modesty  proper  to  lovers. 

"  I  will  manage,"  she  said.  "  Turn  round, 
please." 

Vincent  did  as  he  was  bid.  He  even  shut  his 
eyes.     Presently  Isoult  spoke  again. 

"  Could  you  find  me  a  pair  of  scissors, 
Vincent  ? " 

She  had  been  quick  to  learn  that  beauty  must 
be  obeyed.  She  would  have  asked  Vincent  for 
the  moon  if  she  had  happened  to  want  it,  and 
would  have  seen  him  depart  on  the  errand 
without  qualm.  Sure  enough,  he  brought  the 
scissors  before  her  held-out  hand  had  grown 
tired. 

"  Cut  off  my  hair,"  she  said,  "  level  with  my 
shoulders." 

"Your  hair!"  cried  the  poor  lad.  "Oh, 
Isoult,  I  dare  not." 

It  reached  her  knees,  was  black  as  night,  and 


i7o  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

Straight  as  rain.  It  might  have  echoed  Vincent's 
reproach.  But  the  mistress  of  both  was  inexor- 
able. 

"  Cut  it  to  clear  my  shoulders,  please." 

He  groaned,  but  remembered  that  there  would 
be  spoils,  that  he  must  even  touch  this  hedged 
young  goddess.  So  as  she  stood,  doubleted, 
breeched,  and  in  his  long  red  hose,  he  hovered 
round  her.  Soon  she  was  lightened  of  her  load 
of  glory,  and  as  spruce  as  a  chamber-page. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  you  must  tell  me  the  way 
to  the  nearest  shelter.  There  is  a  place  called 
St.  Lucy's  Precinct,  I  have  heard.  Where  is 
that?" 

He  told  her.  Keep  straight  away  from  the 
moon.  It  was  just  there :  he  pointed  with  his 
hand.  As  long  as  the  moon  held  she  could  not 
fail  to  hit  it.  Beyond  the  pinewood  there  was  an 
open  shaw;  she  could  keep  through  that,  then 
cross  a  piece  of  common  with  bracken  cut  and 
stacked.  Afterwards  came  a  very  deep  wood, 
full  of  beech-timber.  You  crossed  a  brook  at 
Four  Mile  Bottom, — you  could  hear  the  ripples 
of  the  ford  a  half-mile  away, — and  held  straight 
for  the  top  of  Galley  Hill.  After  that  the  trees 
began  again,  oaks  mostly.  A  tall  clump  of 
firs  would  lead  you  tlieie.  Beyond  them  was 
the  yew-tree  wood.  The  precinct  was  there. 
But  the  moon  was  her  best  lamp.  He  was 
talking  to  her  in  language  which  she  under- 
stood better  than  he.  She  could  never  miss 
the  road   now. 

She  thanked  him.     Then  came  a  pause. 

•'  1  must  go,  Vincent,"  said  she.     "  You  have 


THREE    AT  TORTSENTIER  171 

been  my  friend  this  night.  I  will  tell  my  lord 
when  I  see  him.  He  will  reward  you  better 
than  I." 

"  He  can  never  reward  me !  "  cried  Vincent. 

She  sighed  and  turned  to  go,  but  he  started 
forward  and  held  her  with  both  hands  at  her 
waist.  She  seemed  so  like  a  boy  of  his  age,  it 
gave  him  courage. 

"  Isoult,"  he  stammered,  "  Isoult !  " 

"  Yes,  Vincent,"  says  she. 

"  Are  you  going  indeed  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  at  once." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  cannot  tell  you  that." 

"  Do  you  care  nothing  ?  " 

"I  think  you  have  been  my  friend.  Yes,  I 
should  like  to  see  you  again,  some  day." 

"  Oh,  Isoult !  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  something  ?  " 

"  What  have  I,  Vincent  ?  If  I  could  you 
know  that  I  would." 

He  had  her  yet  by  the  waist.  There  was  no 
blinking  what  he  wanted.     Isoult  stood. 

"  You  may  kiss  me  there,"  she  said  with 
the  benignity  of  a  princess,  and  gave  him  her 
hand. 

"^riie  boy's  mouth  was  very  near  her  cheek. 
Something — who  knows  what  ? — checked  him. 
He  let  go  her  waist,  dropped  on  his  knees  and 
kissed  the  hand,  turned  little  prince  in  his  turn. 
Isoult  was  as  near  loving  him  then  as  she  could 
ever  be.  This  was  no  great  way,  perhaps,  but 
near   enough   for   immediate    purposes.     When 


172  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Vincent  got  up  she  gave  him  her  hand  frankly 
to  hold.  They  were  two  children  now,  and  like 
two  children  kissed  each  other  without  under- 
thought.  Then,  as  she  sped  away  from  the 
moon,  Vincent  crept  back  to  his  cold  bed  with 
an  armful  of  black  hair. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

BOY    AND    GIRL 

The  woodland  Mass  in  the  yew-tree  glade  was 
served  next  morning  by  an  acolyte  in  cassock 
and  cotta.  The  way  of  it  was  this.  Alice  of 
the  Hermitage  was  setting  the  altar  in  the  light 
of  a  cloudy  dawn,  when  she  heard  a  step  and  the 
rustling  of  branches  behind  her.  Looking 
quickly  round,  she  saw  a  boy  come  out  of  the 
thicket,  who  stood  echoing  her  wonder.  He 
was  a  dark-haired  slim  lad,  in  leather  jerkin  and 
breeches,  had  crimson  hose  on  his  long  legs, 
on  his  head  a  green  cap  with  a  pheasant's  tail- 
feather  in  it.  The  cap  he  presently  took  off  in 
salutation.  He  said  his  name  was  Roy.  He 
had  a  simple  direct  way  of  answering  questions, 
and  such  untroubled  eyes;  he  was  moreover  so 
plainly  a  Christian,  that  when  he  asked  Alice  if 
he  might  serve  the  Mass  she  went  advocate  for 
him  to  the  priest.  So  it  came  about  that  Isoult, 
having  breakfasted,  lay  asleep  in  Alice's  bed 
when  a  knight  came  cantering  into  the  precinct 
followed  by  a  page  on  a  cob.  His  gilded  armour 
blazed  in  the  sun,  a  tall  blue  plume  curtesied 
over  his  casque.  He  was  so  brave  a  figure — tall 
and  a  superb  horseman — and  so  glittering  from 

173 


1 74  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

top  to  toe,  that  the  old  hermit,  who  came  peenng 
out  to  see,  thought  him  a  prince. 

"What  may  your  Highness  need  of  Saint 
Lucy's  poor  bedesman  ?  "  said  the  hermit,  rub- 
bing his  hands  together. 

"My  Highness  needs  the  whereabouts  of  a 
flitted  lady,"  said  the  knight  in  a  high  clear 
voice. 

Isoult,  whom  the  clatter  had  awakened,  lay 
like  a  hare  in  her  form.  At  this  time  she  feared 
Maulfry  more  than  Galors. 

"  Great  sir,  we  have  no  flitted  ladies  here. 
We  are  very  plain  folk."  So  much  reproof  of 
gilded  armour  and  its  appurtenances  the  hermit 
ventured  on.     But  the  knight  was  positive. 

"  She  would  have  passed  this  way,"  he  called 
out.  "  I  know  whither  she  would  go.  This 
hold  of  yours  is  dead  in  her  road.  So  advise, 
hermit." 

"  I  will  call  Alice,"  said  the  hermit. 

"  Call  the  devil  if  he  will  help  you,"  the  other 
replied. 

Isoult  heard  Alice  go  out  of  the  cottage. 

"  Child,"  said  the  hermit,  "  this  gentleman 
seeks  a  flitted  lady  who  should  have  passed  by 
here  on  her  way.  Have  you  seen  aught  of  such 
an  one  ?     Your  eyes  are  better  than  most." 

There  followed  a  pause,  which  to  the  trembler 
in  the  bed  seemed  time  for  a  death-warrant. 
Then  the  quiet  voice  of  Alice  told  out — 

"  I  have  seen  no  lady.     Wait.     I  will  ask." 

Isoult  heard  her  returning  step.  When  Alice 
came  into  the  room  she  saw  Isoult  standing 
ready,  all  of  a  tremble. 


BOY    AND   GIRL  175 

"Oh,  Alice,"  says  she,  clinging  to  her  and 
speaking  very  fast,  "  I  am  the  girl  they  are  hunt- 
ing. I  am  not  a  boy.  I  have  deceived  you. 
If  they  find  me  they  will  take  me  away." 

"  Will  they  kill  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no  I  There  is  not  enough  mercy  with 
them  for  that." 

"  Ah,  you  have  done  no  ill  ?  " 

"  I  served  God  this  morning.  I  could  not 
have  dared." 

"  True.     Who  is  that  knight  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything.  No  man  could 
be  so  wicked  as  that  knight.  It  is  a  woman, 
desperately  wicked.  She  is  in  league  with  a  man 
who  would  do  the  worst  with  me.  Save  me! 
save  me!  save  me!"  She  began  to  wring  her 
hands,  and  to  blubber,  without  wits  or  measure 
left. 

Alice  put  her  hands  on  her.  "Yes,  I  will 
save  you.  Get  into  bed  and  lie  down.  There 
is  a  page  with  the  knight.  Do  you  knovv^ 
him  ? " 

"Yes,  yes.  He  will  do  no  harm.  He  is 
good." 

"  Very  well.  Lie  down,  and  you  shall  be 
saved." 

Alice  went  out  again  into  the  open. 

"  Sir  knight,"  she  was  heard  to  say,  "  I  have 
asked  Roy,  who  came  hither  this  morning  early 
to  serve  our  Mass.     He  has  seen  no  one." 

*'  Who  is  Roy  ?  "  said  the  knight  sharply. 

"  He  was  server  this  morning.  He  is  asleep 
after  a  long  journey." 

"  Where  ?  " 


176  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Sir,  we  have  little  enough  room.  He  is  in 
my  own  chamber  lying  on  my  bed." 

The  knight  gave  a  dry  laugh. 

"  You  mean  that  I  may  not  venture  into  a 
lady's  chamber,  shameface  ?  Well,  a  boy  may 
go  where  a  boy  is,  I  suppose.  Vincent,  go  and 
explore  the  acolyte." 

"  The  page  may  come,"  said  Alice,  and  watched 
him  go,  not  without  interest,  perhaps  not  without 
amusement. 

The  unconscious  Vincent  was  Isoult's  next 
visitant,  stepping  briskly  into  the  room.  He 
came  right  up  to  the  bed  as  in  his  right  and 
element,  a  boy  dealing  with  a  boy's  monkey 
tricks.  One  watchful  grey  eye,  the  curve  of  one 
rosy  cheek  peering  from  the  blankets,  told  him  a 
new  story. 

"  Oh,  Isoult,"  says  he  in  a  twitter,  "  is  it  you 
indeed  ? " 

"Yes,  hush!  You  will  never  betray  me, 
Vincent  ?  " 

"Betray!"  he  cried.  "Ah,  Saints!  My 
tongue  would  blister  if  I  let  the  truth  on  you. 
But  you  are  quite  safe.  The  damsel  won't  let 
her  in ;  she  thinks  she  has  a  man  to  deal  with. 
Me  she  let  in  !  "  Vincent  chuckled  at  the  irony 
of  the  thing.  Then  he  grew  anxious  over  his 
beloved. 

"  You  had  no  mishaps  .-'  You  are  not  hurt  ? 
Tired  ?  " 

"  All  safe.  Not  tired  now.  What  will  she  do 
next  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there  !  She  is  for  High  March.  That 
I   know.     She   means  to    find    you  there.     She 


BOY   AND    GIRL  177 

means  mischief.  You  must  take  great  care.  You 
have  never  seen  her  in  mischief.  I  have.  Oh, 
Christ !  "     He  winced  at  the  recollection 

"  I  will  go  advisedly,"  said  Isoult.  "  Have  no 
fear  for  me.     I  shall  be  there  before  she  is." 

Vincent  sighed.  "  I  must  go.  Good-bye, 
Isoult.     I  shall  see  you  again,  I  am  very  sure." 

"  I  hope  you  will.     Good-bye." 

He  did  not  dare  so  much  as  touch  the  bed,  but 
went  out  at  once  to  make  liis  report.  He  had 
questioned  the  boy — a  dull  boy,  but  he  thought 
honest.  Assuredly  he  had  seen  no  lady  on  his 
way.  His  lies  deceived  Maulfry,  who  would  have 
known  better  but  for  her  proneness  to  think  every- 
body a  fool.  Soon  Isoult  heard  the  thud  of  hoofs 
on  the  herbage ;  then  Alice  came  running  in  to 
hear  the  story  at  large. 

The  two  girls  became  very  friendly.  Their 
heads  got  close  together  over  Prosper  and  Galors 
and  Maulfry — the  Golden  Knight  who  was  a 
woman !  The  escape  savoured  a  miracle,  was 
certainly  the  act  of  some  heavenly  power.  An 
Archangel,  Alice  thought,  to  which  Isoult,  con- 
vinced that  it  was  Love,  assented  for  courtesy. 

"  Though  for  my  part,"  she  added,  "  I  lean 
hardly  upon  Saint  Isidore." 

"  You  do  well,"  said  Alice,  "  he  is  a  great  saint. 
Is  he  your  patron  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is,"  said  Isoult. 

"  Then  it  is  he  who  has  helped  you,  be  sure. 
No  other  could  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  your 
story  so  well,  or  make  such  close  provision.  The 
Archangels,  you  see,  are  few,  ancl  their  business 
very  great." 

N 


178  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Isoult  agreed. 

Of  Prosper  Alice  could  not  get  a  clear  image. 
When  Isoult  was  upon  that  theme  her  visions 
blinded  her,  and  sent  her  for  refuge  to  abstrac- 
tions. She  candidly  confessed  that  he  did  not  love 
her ;  but  then  she  did  not  ask  that  he  should. 

"But  you  pray,  'Give  him  me  all,'"  Alice 
Dbjected. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  be  his  servant,  and  that  he 
should  have  no  other.  I  cannot  bear  that  any 
one  should  do  for  him  what  I  can  do  best.  That 
is  what  I  tell  the  Holy  Virgin." 

"  And  Saint  Isidore,  I  hope,"  said  Alice  gently  ; 
but  Isoult  thought  not. 

"  It  would  be  useless  to  tell  Saint  Isidore,"  she 
explained.  "  He  is  a  man,  and  men  think 
differently  of  these  matters.  They  want  more, 
and  do  not  understand  to  be  contented  with 
much  less." 

y  "  Forgive  me,  Isoult.  I  know  nothing  of  love 
and  lovers.  But  if  you  marry  this  lord — as  I 
suppose  you  might  ? " 

"  He  might  marry  we,"  said  Isoult  slowly. 

"  Well,  then,  is  there  no  more  to  look  for  in 
marriage  but  the  liberty  to  serve  '^ " 

"  I  look  for  nothing  else." 

"  But  he  might  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ah  !     If  he  did ! " 

"  Well } " 

"  Oh,  Alice,  I  love  him  so  !  " 

"  Darling  Isoult — I  see  now.     Forgive  me." 

The  two  friends  cried  together  and  kissed,  as 
girls  will.  Then  they  talked  of  what  there  was 
to  do.     Isoult  was  resolute  to  go. 


BOY   AND    GIRL  179 

'^  She  will  ride  straight  to  High  March,"  she 
said.  "  I  know  her.  My  lord  is  there.  If  she 
finds  not  me,  she  will  find  him,  and  endanger  his 
ease.  I  must  be  there  first.  She  must  follow 
the  paths,  however  they  wind,  because  she  is 
mounted  on  a  heavy  horse.  I  shall  go  through 
the  brakes  by  ways  that  I  know.  I  shall  easily 
outwit  her  in  the  forest." 

'-But  you  cannot  walk,  dearest.  It  is  many 
days  to  High  March." 

"  I  shall  ride." 

"  What  will  you  ride,  goose  ?  " 

"A  forest  pony,  of  course." 

"  Will  you  go  as  you  are — like  a  boy,  Isoult  c*  " 

Alice  was  aghast  at  the  possibility ;  but  Isoult, 
who  had  many  reasons  for  it  apart  from  her  own 
safety  (forgotten  in  the  sight  of  Prosper's),  was 
clear  that  she  would.  Prosper  she  knew  was  the 
guest  of  the  Countess  Isabel,  a  vaguely  great  and 
crowned  lady ;  probably  he  was  one  of  many 
guests.  "And  how  shall  I,  a  poor  girl,  come  at 
him  in  the  midst  of  such  a  company  ?  "  she  asked 
herself  But  if  she  went  with  a  tale  of  being  his 
page  Roy  he  might  admit  her  to  some  service, 
to  hand  his  cup,  or  just  to  lie  at  his  door  of  a 
night.  The  real  Roy  had  done  more  than  this ; 
he  would  never  refuse  her  so  much.  So  she 
thought  at  least ;  and  at  the  worst  she  would 
have  space  to  tell  her  message. 

At  noon,  the  forest  pony  captured  and  haltered 
with  a  rope,  she  started.  Alice  was  tearful,  but 
Isoult,  high  in  affairs,  had  no  time  to  consider 
Alice.  She  gave  her  a  kiss,  stooping  from  the 
saddle,  thanked  her  for  what   she  had   done   on 


i8o  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Prosper's  account,  and  flew.  She  never  looked 
back,  to  wave  a  hand  or  watch  a  hand-waving; 
she  was  in  a  fever  for  action.  Going,  she  calcu- 
lated profoundly.  There  was  a  choice  of  ways. 
The  great  road  from  Wanmouth  to  High  March 
skirted  Marbery  Down  (where  she  had  watched 
the  stars  and  heard  the  sheep-bells  many  a  still 
night),  and  then  ran  east  by  the  forest  edge  to 
Worple.  It  only  took  in  Worple  by  a  wide 
divagation ;  after  that  it  curved  back  to  the  forest, 
ran  fairly  clean  to  Market  Basing,  thence  over 
ridges  and  coombs,  but  climbing  mostly,  it 
fetched  up  at  High  March.  It  was  a  mihtary 
road.  Well,  she  might  follow  Maulfry  on  this 
road  till  within  a  couple  of  days  of  the  castle ;  it 
would  ensure  safety  for  her,  and  a  good  footing 
for  her  beast.  On  the  other  hand,  if  she  rode 
due  north  over  everything  (as  she  knew  she 
could),  she  would  steal  at  least  one  more  day. 
And  could  she  afford  to  lose  a  clear  day  with 
Prosper?  Ah,  and  it  would  give  a  margin 
against  miscarriage  of  the  news  by  any  adverse 
fate  on  either  of  them.  Before  she  framed  the 
question  she  knew  it  answered.  Her  road  then 
was  to  be  dead  north  across  the  edge  of  Spurnt 
Heath  (where  her  father's  cottage  was),  past 
Martle  Brush,  stained  with  the  black  blood  of 
Galors,  then  on  to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and 
by  the  right-hand  road  to  High  March.  Think- 
ing it  over,  she  put  her  journey  at  three,  and 
Maulfry 's  at  four  days.  Maulfry's  was  actually 
rather  less,  as  will  appear. 

If  all  this  prove  dull  to  the  reader,  I  can  only 
tell  him  that  he  had  better  know  his  way  about 


BOY   AND    GIRL  i8i 

Morgraunt  than  lose  it,  as  I  have  very  often  done 
in  the  course  of  my  hot- head  excursions.  There 
are  so  many  trackless  regions  in  it,  so  many  great 
lakes  of  green  with  never  an  island  of  a  name, 
that  to  me,  at  least,  it  is  salvation  to  have  solid 
verifiable  spots  upon  which  to  put  a  finger  and 
say — "  Here  is  Waisford,  here  Tortsentier,  here 
is  the  great  river  Wan,  here  by  the  grace  of 
God  and  the  Countess  of  Hauterive  is  Saint 
Giles  of  Holy  Thorn."  Of  course  to  Isoult 
it  was  different.  She  had  been  a  forester  all  her 
life.  To  her  there  were  names  (and  names  of 
dread)  not  to  be  known  of  any  map.  Deerleap, 
One  Ash,  the  Wolves'  Valley,  the  Place  of  the 
Withered  Elm,  the  Charcoal-Burners',  the  Mossy 
Christ,  the  Birch-grove,  the  Brook  under  the 
Brow — and  a  hundred  more.  She  steered  by 
these,  with  all  foresters.  What  she  did  not 
remember,  or  did  not  know,  was  that  Maulfry 
had  also  lived  in  Morgraunt  and  knew  the  ways 
by  heart.  Still,  she  had  a  better  mount  than 
the  Lady  of  Tortsentier,  and  Love  for  a  link- 
boy. 

However  fast  she  rode  for  her  mark,  her  way 
seemed  long  enough  as  she  battled  through  that 
shadowed  land,  forded  brooks,  stole  by  the  edge 
of  wastes  or  swamps,  crossed  open  rides  in  fear 
what  either  vista  might  set  bare,  climbed  imper- 
ceptibly higher  and  higher  towards  the  spikes  of 
Hauterive,  upon  whose  woody  bluffs  stands  High 
March.  Not  upon  one  beast  could  she  have 
done  what  she  did ;  one  took  her  a  day  and  a 
night  going  at  the  pace  she  exacted.  She  knew 
by  her  instincts  where  the  herds  of  ponies  ran, 


i82  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

It  was  easy  to  catch  and  halter  any  one  she 
chose ;  no  forest  beast  went  in  fear  of  her  who 
had  the  wild-wood  savour  in  her  hair — but  it 
meant  more  contriving  and  another  stretch  for 
her  tense  brain.  For  herself,  she  hardly  dared 
stay  at  all.  Prosper's  breast  under  a  dagger!  If 
she  had  stayed  she  would  not  have  slept.  The 
fever  and  the  fever  only  kept  her  up ;  for  a  slim 
and  tender  girl  she  went  through  incredible 
fatigues.  But  while  the  fever  lasted  so  did  she, 
alert,  wise,  discreet,  incessantly  active.  Part  of 
her  journey — for  the  half  of  one  day — she  actually 
had  Maulfry  in  full  view ;  saw  her  riding  easily 
on  her  great  white  Fleming,  saw  the  glint  of  the 
golden  armour,  and  Vincent  ambling  behind  her 
on  his  cob,  catching  at  the  leaves  as  he  went, 
for  lack  of  something  better.  She  was  never 
made  out  by  them, — at  a  time  like  this  her  wits 
were  finer  than  her  enemy's, — so  she  was  able  to 
learn  how  much  time  she  had  to  spare.  That 
night  she  slept  for  three  hours.  As  for  her  food, 
we  know  that  she  could  supply  herself  with  that ; 
and  when  the  deer  failed  her,  she  scrupled  no- 
thing (she  so  abject  with  whom  she  loved  !)  to 
demand  it  of  whomsoever  she  happened  to  meet. 
She  grew  as  bold  as  a  winter  robin.  One  evening 
she  sat  by  a  gipsy  fire  with  as  shrewd  a  set  of 
cut-throats  as  you  would  wish  to  hang.  She 
never  turned  a  hair.  Another  night  she  fell  in 
with  some  shaggy  drovers  leading  cattle  from 
March  into  Waisford,  and  shared  the  cloak  and 
pillow  of  one  of  them  without  a  quiver.  Having 
dozed  and  started  half-a-dozen  times  in  a  couple 
of  hours,  she  got  up  without  disturbing  her  bed- 


BOY   AND    GIRL  183 

fellow  and  took  to  the  woods  again.  So  sUe  came 
to  her  last  day,  when  she  looked  to  see  the  High 
March  towers  and  what  they  held. 

On  that  day  at  noon,  as  she  sat  resting  near  a 
four-went-way,  she  heard  the  tramp  of  horses, 
the  clatter  of  arms.  She  hid  herself,  just  in  time, 
in  a  thicket  of  wild  rose,  and  waited  to  see  what 
was  threatening.  It  proved  to  be  a  company  of 
soldiers — she  counted  fifty,  but  there  were  more 
— well  armed  with  spears,  whose  banneroles  were 
black  and  white.  They  rode  at  a  trot  to  the 
crossways ;  there  one  cried  halt.  They  were 
within  ten  yards  of  her,  but  happily  there  were 
no  dogs.  Then  she  heard  another  horse — that  of 
the  captain,  as  she  guessed.  She  saw  him  come 
round  the  bend  of  the  ride,  a  burly  man,  black 
upon  a  black  horse.  There  were  white  feathers 
in  his  helmet ;  on  his  shield  three  white  wicket- 
gates.  Galors!  At  this  moment  her  heart  did 
not  fail  her.  It  scarcely  beat  faster.  She  was 
able  to  listen  at  her  ease. 

They  debated  of  ways ;  Galors  seemed  in 
doubt,  and  vexed  at  doubting.  One  of  them 
pointed   the   road  to    High    March. 

"No,  by  the  Crucified,"  said  Galors,  "that  is 
no  road  for  me  just  yet,  who  once  showed  a 
shaven  crown  upon  it.  I  leave  High  March  to 
the  Golden  Knight  for  the  hour.  He  shall 
make  my  way  straight,  bless  him  for  a  John 
Baptist.  We  are  for  Wanmeeting,  my  friends. 
Wanmeeting,  then  Goitres." 

Said  another — "  Sir,  if  that  road  lead  to  High 
March,  we  must  go  straight  forward  to  fetch  at 
Wanmeeting." 


i84  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

So  they  disputed  at  large.  Isoult  made  out 
that  Galors  had  raised  a  company  of  outlaws  (no 
hard  job  in  Morgraunt  at  any  time,  and  raised 
for  her  ravishment,  if  she  had  known  it),  and  was 
bound  for  Goitres,  where  there  was  a  castle,  and 
a  lord  of  it  named  Spiridion.  She  could  find  out 
little  more.  Sometimes  they  spoke  of  Hauterive 
town  and  a  castle  there,  sometimes  of  Wanmeet- 
ing  and  a  high  bailiff;  but  Goitres  seemed  most 
in  Galors'  mind. 

Finally  they  took  the  road  to  Wan  meeting. 
Isoult  waited  till  the  sound  of  the  horses  died  in 
the  swishing  of  trees,  and  then  sped  forward  on 
her  feet  towards  her  lord.  She  knew  she  was 
near  by,  and  would  not  risk  time  or  discovery  by 
catching  her  pony.  By  four  in  the  afternoon  she 
had  her  first  view  of  the  great  castle  rising  stately 
out  of  the  black  pines  and  bright  green  of  the 
spring  foliage,  warm  grey  in  the  full  light  of  the 
sun,  and  solid  as  the  rock  it  was  of  In  another 
hour  she  was  demanding  of  the  porter  at  the 
outer  bailey  Messire  Prosper  le  Gai,  in  the  name 
of  his  servant  Roy. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

ROY 

That  clear  and  mild  ev^ening,  fluted  as  April 
by  a  thrush  in  the  lilacs,  Prosper  and  the  Countess 
walked  together  on  the  terrace.  A  guard  or 
two,  pike  in  hand,  lounged  by  the  balustrade ; 
the  deer-hound,  with  his  muzzle  between  his 
paws,  twitched  his  ears  or  woke  to  snap  at  a  fly : 
it  seemed  as  if  the  earth,  sure  of  the  sun  at  last, 
left  her  conning  tower  with  a  happy  sigh.  It 
turned  the  Countess  to  a  tender  mood,  where 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  played  upon  by  the 
season — fora  del  tempo  e  la  dolce  stagione.  The 
spring  whimpered  in  her  blood.  Prosper  felt 
her  sighing  as  she  leaned  on  his  arm,  and  made 
stress  to  amuse  her,  for  sighs  always  seemed  to 
him  unhealthy.  He  set  himself  to  be  humorous, 
sang,  chattered,  told  anecdotes,  and  succeeded  in 
infecting  himself  first  and  the  lady  afterwards. 
She  laughed  in  spite  of  herself,  then  with  a 
good  will.  They  both  laughed  together,  so  that 
the  guards  nudged  each  other.  One  prophesied 
a  match  of  it. 

"And  no  bad  thing  for  High  March  if  it  were 
so,"  said  the  other,  "  and  we  with  a  man  at  the 

1S5 


i86  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

top.  I  never  knew  a  greater-hearted  lord.  He 
is  voiced  like  a  peal  of  bells  in  a  frolic." 

"  He's  a  trumpet  in  a  charge  home." 

"  He's  first  in." 

"  Fights  like  a  demon." 

"  SnufFs  blood  before  'tis  out  of  the  skin." 

"  Ah,  a  great  gentleman!  " 

"  What  would  his  age  be  ?  " 

"  Five-and-twenty,  not  an  ounce  more.  So 
ho !    What's  this  on  the  road  ?  " 

The  other  man  looked  up,  both  looked 
together.  The  porter  came  on  to  the  terrace, 
followed  by  a  dark  youth  who  walked  with  a 
limp. 

"A  boy  to  speak  with  Messire,"  said  the 
porter,  and  left  his  convoy. 

"Name  and  ~  business?"  asked  one  of  the 
guards. 

"  Roy,  the  page  from  Starning,  to  speak  with 
my  lord." 

"  Wait  you  there,  Roy.     I  will  ask  for  you." 

The  guard  went  off  whistling.  Isoult  fixed 
long  looks  again  on  the  two  at  the  end  of  the 
terrace.     She  was  nearly  done. 

"  You  have  made  a  push  for  it,  my  shaver," 
said  the  second  guard,  after  a  study  from  head 
to  toe. 

"  My  business  pushed  me." 

"  Ah,  trouble  in  the  forest,  eh  ?  Are  the  roads 
clear  ? " 

"  I  met  with  a  company." 

"  How  many  pikes  ? " 

"Nearer  sixty  than  fifty." 

"  Where  bound  ? " 


ROY  187 

"Goitres,  I  understood." 

"  Who  led  ?  " 

"  A  black  kniglit." 

"  Ah.     Were  you  mounted,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  Not  then.      I  was  in  hiding." 

"  Ah.  You  know  what  you're  about,  it 
seems." 

"  Yes,"  said  Isoult. 

The  messenger  returned. 

"  You  are  to  go  and  speak  to  Messire,"  he  said. 

Isoult  saw  Prosper  coming  towards  her.  Her 
heart's  trouble  began;  her  knees  knocked  to- 
gether, she  swayed  a  little  as  she  walked. 

"  That  boy's  had  as  much  as  he  can  stand," 
said  the  guard  who  had  questioned. 

"  What,  a'ready  ?  "  laughed  his  mate. 

"  Not  beer,  you  fool — travel.  He's  extended 
— he  will  hardly  reach  another  yard." 

The  fact  was  wholly,  the  reasoning  partly  true. 
Doubt  had  lain  as  dregs  at  the  bottom  of  the 
draught  which  had  fed  her.  Now  she  was  at 
the  lees — brought  so  low  that  she  had  to  depend 
upon  the  worth  of  her  news  for  assurance  of  a 
hearing.  True,  she  had  asked  no  more,  nor 
looked  for  it — but  you  cannot  tame  hopes.  A 
dry  patch  in  her  throat  burned  like  fire,  but  she 
fought  her  way.  He  was  close :  she  could  see 
the  keen  light  in  his  eyes.  Alas !  alas !  he  looked 
for  Roy !  A  thick  tide  of  despair  came  surging 
over  her,  closing  in,  beating  at  her  temples  for 
entrance.  She  lost  her  sight,  fluttered  a  very 
rag  in  the  wind,  held  out  her  hands  for  a  balance. 
Prosper  saw  her  feeling  about  like  a  blind  man. 
He  quickened. 


i»8  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

"  Danger !  danger !  "  she  breathed,  and  fell 
at  his  feet. 

He  picked  her  up  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby 
and  carried  her  into  the  house.  As  he  passed 
the  guards  one  of  them  came  forward  to  help. 

"The  lad's  been  pushed  beyond  his  strength, 
my  lord,"  the  man  ventured. 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Prosper,  and  shook  him  off. 
The  business  must  be  got  through  alone. 

"A  great  gentleman,"  said  the  man  to  his 
mate.     "  But  he  fags  his  servants." 

"  Bless  you,  Jack,  they  like  it !  "  the  other 
assured  him,  with  a  laugh  at  the  weakness  of  his 
own  kind. 

Wine  on  her  lips  and  brows  brought  her  to, 
but  it  was  a  ghost  of  a  boy  that  lay  on  the  bed 
and  held  fixed  iipon  Prosper  a  pair  of  haunted 
eyes.  But  Prosper  stayed  at  his  post.  He  was 
very  tender  to  weak  things.  Here  in  all  con- 
science was  a  weak  thing !  That  look  of  hers, 
which  never  wavered  for  a  second,  frightened 
him.  He  thought  she  was  going  to  die ;  re- 
flected that  death  was  not  safe  without  a  priest : 
the  thought  of  death  suggested  his  dream,  the 
dream  his  old  curiosity  to  see  again  that  which 
had  so  stirred  him  asleep.  Well,  here  she  was 
before  him — part  of  her  at  least ;  for  her  soul, 
which  he  had  helped  her  to  win,  was  fighting  to 
escape.  The  sounds  of  the  duel,  the  shuddering 
reluctance  of  the  indrawn  breath,  the  moan  that 
told  of  its  enlargement,  these  things,  and  the 
motionless  open  eyes  which  seemed  to  say, 
Look!  Body  and  soul  are  fighting,  and  we  can 
only  watch !   turned  him   helpless,  as  we  all  are 


ROY  189 

in  actual  audience  of  death.  He  sat,  therefore, 
waiting  the  issue ;  and  if  he  had  any  thought  at 
all  it  was,  "  God,  she  was  mine  once,  and  now  I 
have  let  her  go ! "  For  we  do  not  pity  the  dying 
or  dead  ;  but  ourselves  we  pity,  who  suffer  longer 
and  more  than  they. 

Presently  Isoult  fetched  a  long  sigh,  and 
moved  a  hand  ever  so  slightly.  Prosper  took 
it,  leanmg  over  her. 

"  Isoult,"  he  said,  "  child,  do  you  not  know 
me." 

He  affected  more  roughness  than  he  felt,  as 
a  man's  way  is.  He  will  always  dictate  rather 
than  ask.  At  his  words  a  shiny  veil  seemed  to 
withdraw  from  her  eyes,  whereby  he  learned  that 
she  had  heard  him.  He  put  the  cup  to  her  lips 
again.     Some  was  spilt,  but  some  was  swallowed. 

She  motioned  an  answer  to  his  question. 
^'Yes,  lord,"  he  made  of  it. 

"  Isoult,  I  ought  to  be  angry  with  you,"  said 
he ;  and  she  looked  untroubled  at  him,  too  far 
gone  to  heed  the  blame  of  lords  or  men. 

"  No,  no,"  her  lips  framed  as  she  closed  her 
eyes. 

She  fell  asleep  holding  his  hand,  and  he 
watched  by  the  bed  till  midnight,  warning  off 
with  a  lifted  finger  any  who  came  from  the 
Countess  for  news  of  him.  Hard  thinking  sped 
the  vigil :  he  wondered  what  could  have  hap- 
pened to  bring  her  so  near  her  death  or  ever  he 
could  have  word  of  her.  Galors,  he  was  pretty 
sure,  had  got  to  work  again ;  it  was  good  odds 
that  he  had  been  running  in  couple  with  the 
lady  of  the  dead  knight.     Their  connection  was 


190  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

proved  to  his  mind.  Then  Isoult,  having  escaped 
by  some  chance,  had  naturaUy  headed  straight 
for  him — very  naturally,  very  properly.  It  was 
his  due  :  he  would  fight  for  her ;  she  was  his 
wife.  Ah,  Heaven,  but  she  was  more  than  that ! 
There  were  ties,  there  were  ties  now.  What 
more  precisely  she  was  he  could  not  say ;  but 
more,  oh,  certainly  more.  Weak  things  moved 
him  always :  here  was  a  weak  enough  thing, 
white  and  shadowy  in  a  bed !  He  felt  the 
stirring  of  her  hand  in  his,  like  a  little  mouse. 
Poor  frightened  creature,  flying  from  all  the 
forest  eyes  to  drop  at  his  feet  at  last !  By  God, 
he  would  split  Galors  this  time.  And  as  for 
the  woman — pooh,  give  her  a  branding  and  let 
her  go. 

At  midnight  Isoult  woke  up  with  a  little 
cry.  Her  first  words  were  as  before — "  Danger  ! 
danger ! " 

"  You  are  safe  with  me,  dear,"  said  Prosper. 

"  Danger  to  you,  my  lord  !  " 

"To  me,  my  child?  Who  can  be  dangerous 
to  me?" 

"Maulfry  and  Galors,     Maulfry  most  of  all." 

"Maulfry?  Maulfry?"  he  echoed.  Ah,  the 
lady ! 

She  told  him  everything  that  had  passed  from 
the  hour  she  left  Gracedieu,  and  even  Prosper 
could  not  but  see  that  she  had  had  one  thought 
throughout  and  one  stay.  Maulfry's  smiling 
treachery  had  shocked  her  to  the  soul ;  but  the 
very  shock  had  only  quickened  her  alarms  about 
his  safety.  He  could  not  avoid  the  reflection 
that   this  startled   creature  loved  him.     Prosper 


ROY 


191 


would  have  been  more  grateful  than  he  was,  and 
more  shrewdly  touched,  had  he  not  also  felt 
astonishment  (tinged,  I  think,  with  scorn)  that 
any  one  should  be  anxious  about  his  conduct  of 
the  war.  Women's  ways !  As  if  a  man-at-arms 
did  not  live  in  danger ;  and  for  danger,  pardieu. 
He  did  not  show  any  of  tliis,  nor  did  he  leave 
the  girl's  hand.  Besides,  the  affair  was  very 
interesting.  So  he  heard  her  to  the  end,  adding 
nothing  by  way  of  comment  beyond  an  occasional 
"  Good  child,"  or  "  Brave  girl,"  or  the  wine  cup 
to  her  dry  lips.  Seeing  too  how  deeply  her 
alarms  had  sunk  into  her,  he  had  tact  enough 
not  to  let  her  guess  his  intent,  which  very  nakedly 
was  to  follow  up  Galors  towards  Goitres  or 
Wanmeeting.  Upon  this  matter  he  contented 
himself  with  asking  her  one  question — whether 
she  had  ev^er  heard  speak  of  a  knight  called 
Salomon  de  Born  ?  The  answer  made  him  start. 
Isoult  shook  her  head. 

"I  never  heard  of  him,  my  lord;  but  I  know 
that  Dom  Galors'  name  is  De  Born," 

"Hum,"  said  Prosper;  "he  has  taken  all  he 
can  get,  it  appears.  And  does  he  still  carry  the 
shield  and  arms  he  had  before?" 

She  told  him,  yes;  and  that  all  his  company 
carried  his  colours,  black  and  white,  upon  their 
banneroles  and  the  trappings  of  their  horses. 

"In  fact  our  monk  sets  up  for  a  lord — Messire 
Galors  de  Born?" 

"So  he  is  named  among  his  men,  lord,"  said 
Isoult. 

"But  wait  a  minute.  Do  you  know  the  man's 
name  before  he  entered  religion?" 


192  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"It  was  De  Born,  my  lord,  as  I  understood. 
But  I  have  heard  him  also  called  Born." 

Prosper  thought  again,  shook  his  head,  made 
nothing  of  it,  and  so  kept  it  for  his  need. 

Next  day  before  dinner  he  came  into  the  hall 
leading  a  black-haired  boy  by  the  hand.  He 
went  up  to  the  Countess's  chair  between  the 
ranked  assembly. 

"  My  lady  Countess,"  says  he,  "  suffer  my 
page  Roy  to  kiss  your  hand.  He  loves  me,  and 
I  him,  if  for  no  better  reason  than  that  he  does 
me  so  much  credit.  He  alone  in  my  father's 
house  has  dared  it,  I  may  tell  you.  "Take  him 
in  then  for  my  sake,  madam.  The  master's 
master  should  be  the  servant's  master." 

The  Countess  smiled. 

"  He  is  certainly  welcome  on  this  showing,"  she 
said,  "as  well  as  on  others.  That  must  be  a 
good  servant  for  whom  his  master  forsakes  not 
only  his  friends  but  his  supper."  Then  turning 
to  Isoult,  "  Well,  Roy,"  she  asked,  "  and  art  thou 
whole  again  ? " 

"  Yes,  please  my  lady,"  said  Isoult. 

"Then  thou  shalt  kiss  my  hand  for  thy 
master's  sake ! "  returned  the  Countess,  after 
looking  keenly  at  the  girl. 

Isoult  knelt  and  kissed  the  white  hand.  The 
Countess  beckoned  to  one  of  her  pages. 

"  Go  now,  Roy,  with  Balthasar,"  said  she. 
"  He  will  show  thee  whatever  is  needful  to  be 
known.  Afterwards  thou  shalt  come  into  hall 
and  serve  at  thy  lord's  chair.  And  so  long  as  he 
is  here  thou  shalt  serve  him,  and  sleep  at  his 
chamber  door.     I  am  sure  that  thou  art  faithful 


ROY 


193 


and  worthy  of  so  much  at  my  hands.  And  now, 
Prosper,"  she  turned  to  say,  as  if  that  business 
were  happily  done,  "  you  shall  finish  your  story 
of  the  Princess  of  Tunis  and  the  Neapolitan 
barber,  which  you  broke  off  so  abruptly  yester- 
even.     Then  we  will  go  to  supper." 

The  audience  was  over ;  Prosper  received  his 
wife's  reverence  with  a  blush,  sighed  as  he  saw 
her  back  out  of  the  presence,  and  sighed  still 
more  as  he  turned  to  his  task  of  entertaining  the 
great  lady  his  hostess. 

Isoult  was  led  away  by  Balthasar  into  the 
pages'  quarters,  and  escaped  thence  with  an  ex- 
amination which  was  not  so  searching  as  it  might 
have  been  had  she  not  passed  for  squire  to  such 
a  redoubtable  smiter.  She  was  not  long  finding 
out  that  Prosper  was  the  god  of  all  the  youth  in 
High  March.  His  respect  won  her  respect, 
though  it  could  win  him  no  more  from  her. 
She  heard  their  glowing  reports,  indeed,  with  a 
certain  scorn — to  think  that  they  should  inform 
her  of  him,  forsooth  !  From  the  buttery  she  was 
taken  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  women  in  the 
servants'  hall.  Here  the  fact  that  she  made  a 
very  comely  boy — a  boy  agile,  dark-eyed,  and 
grave,  who  looked  to  have  something  in  reserve — 
worked  her  turn  where  Prosper's  prowess  might 
have  failed  her.  The  women  found  her  frugality 
of  speech  piquant ;  it  laid  down  for  her  the  lines 
of  a  reputation  for  experienced  gallantry — the 
sort  which  asks  a  little  wearily.  Is  this  worth  my 
while  ?  It  seemed  to  them  that  in  matters  of 
love  Roy  might  be  hard  to  please.  This  caused 
a  stir  in  one  or  two  bosoms.     A  certain  Melot, 


194  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

a  black-eyed  girl,  plump,  and  an  easy  giggler, 
avowed  in  strict  confidence  to  her  room-fellow 
that  night,  that  her  fate  had  been  told  her  by  a 
Bohemian — a  shght  and  dark-eyed  youth  was  to 
be  her  undoing.  You  will  readily  understand  that 
this  was  duly  reported  by  the  room-fellow  to 
Balthasar,  and  by  him  to  Isoult,  following  the 
etiquette  observed  in  such  matters.  Isoult 
frowned,  said  little  of  it,  and  thought  less. 

With  the  other  pages  she  waited  behind  her 
master's  chair  at  supper.  He  still  sat  at  the 
Countess's  right  hand  as  the  principal  guest 
(evidently)  in  her  esteem,  if  not  in  degree. 
Isoult  had  prepared  herself  for  what  was  to  come 
as  best  she  could.  She  had  expounded,  as  you 
have  been  told,  her  simple  love-lore  to  Alice  of 
the  Hermitage ;  but  it  is  doubtful  if  she  had 
known  how  much  like  a  cow  beset  by  flies  in  a 
dry  pasture  a  lover  may  be  made.  Every  little 
familiar  gesture  was  a  prick.  Their  talk  of 
things  which  had  happened  to  them  counselled 
her  to  despair.  When  the  Countess  leaned  to 
Prosper's  chair  she  measured  how  long  this 
could  be  borne ;  but  when  by  chance  her  hand 
touched  on  his  arm,  to  rest  there  for  a  moment, 
Isoult  was  as  near  jealousy  as  a  girl,  in  the  main 
logical  by  instinct  and  humble  by  conviction, 
could  ever  be.  Then  came  doubt,  and  brought 
fear  to  drag  her  last  hand  from  the  rock  and  let 
her  fall.  Fear  came  stealthily  to  her,  like  a  lurking 
foe,  out  of  the  Countess's  unconscious  eyes. 
Isoult  had  nothing  to  hope  for  that  she  had  not 
already :  she  knew  that  now  she  was  blessed 
beyond  all  women  born ;  she  loved,  she  was  near 


ROY  195 

her  beloved ;  but  her  heart  was  crying  out  at  the 
cold  and  the  dark.  There  was  love  in  the  Count- 
ess's looks ;  Isoult  could  not  doubt  it.  And 
Prosper  did  not  take  it  amiss.  Here  it  was  that 
Isoult  was  blind,  for  Prosper  had  no  notions 
whatever  about  the  Countess's  looks. 

He  was  in  very  high  spirits  that  supper.  He 
liked  Isoult  to  be  by  him  again,  hked  it  for  her 
sake  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  the  escapade.  He 
had  watched  her  a  good  deal  during  the  day,  and 
found  her  worth  perusal.  She  had  picked  up  her 
good  looks  again,  went  bravely  dressed  in  his 
livery  of  white  and  green,  with  his  hooded  falcon 
across  her  bosom  and  embroidered  slantwise  upon 
the  fold  of  her  doublet.  Thus  she  made  a  very 
handsome  page.  She  was  different  though.  He 
thought  that  there  was  now  about  her  an  allure,  a 
grave  richness,  a  reticence  of  charm,  an  air  of 
discretion  which  he  must  always  have  liked  with- 
out knowing  that  he  liked  it.  Yet  he  had  never 
noticed  it  before.  The  child  was  almost  a  young 
woman,  seemed  taller  and  more  filled  out.  No 
doubt  this  was  true,  and  no  doubt  it  braved  her 
for  the  carrying  of  her  boy's  garnish,  otherwise  a 
risky  fardel  for  a  young  woman.  He  was  pleased 
with  her,  and  with  himself  for  being  pleased.  So 
he  was  very  merry,  ate  well,  drank  as  the  drink 
came,  and  every  time  Isoult  brought  him  the  cup 
he  looked  at  her  trying  to  win  an  answer.  Since 
no  answer  was  to  be  had  he  was  forced  to  be 
satisfied  with  looking.  Once  or  twice  in  serving 
him  their  hands  touched.  This  also  pleased  him, 
but  he  was  shocked  to  find  this  rosy  girl  with 
the  shining  eyes  had  hands  as  cold  as  ice.     And 


196  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

he  so  well  disposed  to  her !  And  she  his  wife ! 
He  pursued  his  researches  in  this  sort  at  the  cost 
of  more  stoups  of  wine  than  were  needful  or  his 
rule.  He  grew  enthusiastic  over  it,  and  laid  up  a 
fine  store  of  penalties  for  future  settlement.  The 
enthusiast  must  neglect  something;  Prosper, 
being  engrossed  with  his  page  and  his  wine, 
neglected  the  Countess.  This  lady,  after  tapping 
with  her  foot  in  her  chamber  till  the  sound 
maddened  her,  withdrew  early.  Immediately 
she  had  gone  Prosper  announced  great  fatigue. 
He  sent  for  his  page  and  a  torch.  Isoult  escaped 
from  the  noisy  herd  round  the  buttery  fire,  lit  her 
torch  at  a  cresset,  disregarded  Melot  languishing 
in  a  dark  corner,  and  met  her  lord  in  mid  hall. 

"  Take  me  to  bed,  Roy,"  said  he,  looking  at 
her  strangely. 

Isoult  led  the  way ;  he  followed  her  close. 

She  went  into  the  dark  room  with  her  torch 
while  Prosper  stood  in  the  doorway.  She  lighted 
the  candles:  he  could  see  how  deliberately  she 
did  it,  without  waver  or  tremor.  His  own  heart 
thumping  at  such  a  rate,  it  was  astounding  to 
him  to  watch.  Then  she  beat  out  the  torch  on 
the  hearth,  and  waited.  Three  strides  brought 
him  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  but  the  look  of 
her  stopped  him  there.  She  was  rather  pale, 
very  grave,  looked  taller  than  her  height ;  her 
eyes  seemed  like  twin  lakes  of  dark  water,  un- 
ruffled and  unwinking.  Neither  of  them  spoke, 
though  there  was  fine  disorder  in  two  hearts,  and 
one  was  crying  inwardly  to  Love  and  the  Virgin. 
Isoult  spoke  first  in  a  very  low  voice. 

*'  Lord,  now  let  me  go,"  she  said. 


ROY  197 

The  next  minute  he  had  her  in  his  arms. 

She  had  been  prepared  for  this,  and  now 
suffered  what  she  must,  lifeless  and  pleasureless, 
with  a  dull  pain  in  her  heart.  This  was  the 
stabbing  pain  (as  with  a  muffled  knife)  with 
which  true  love  maims  itself  in  its  own  defence. 
His  aim  for  her  lips  was  parried ;  as  well  he 
might  have  embraced  a  dead  woman.  Soon  his 
passion  burnt  itself  out  for  lack  of  fuel ;  he  set 
her  down  and  looked  moodily  at  her,  panting. 

"  Are  you  my  wife  ?  By  the  saints,  are  you 
not  my  wife  ?     Why  are  you  here  r  " 

"To  serve  my  lord." 

"  Serve  !  serve  !  And  is  this  the  service  you 
do  me  ?     Are  you  not  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I  am  she,  lord.  I  am  what  you  made  me. 
I  serve  as  you  taught." 

"  Does  a  wife  not  owe  obedience  ?  Hath  a 
lord — hath  a  husband  no  right  to  that  ? " 

"  Love  is  a  great  lord " 

"  By  Heaven,  do  I  not  love  you  ?  " 

He  could  have  sworn  he  did ;  but  Isoult  knew 
better. 

"  Yesterday  my  lord  loved  me  not ;  to-morrow 
he  will  not  love  me.  I  am  his  servant — his 
page." 

"  Isoult,  you  know  that  you  are  my  wife." 

"  I  am  your  servant,  lord,"  said  Isoult. 
"  Listen." 

As  he  stood  hiding  his  face  in  his  hand,  this 
tall  and  lordly  youth,  Isoult  took  up  her  parable, 
but  so  low  you  could  hardly  hear  it. 

"  Lord,"  she  said,  "when  you  wed  me  in  the 
cottage  it  was  for  honour  and  to  save  my  body 


198  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

from  hanging.  And  when  you  had  saved  my 
body  you  showed  me  soul's  salvation,  and  taught 
me  how  to  pray,  saying,  Deal  justly,  live  cleanly, 
breathe  sweet  breath.  And  when  you  went  away 
from  Gracedieu  saymg  you  would  come  again,  I 
waited  for  you  there,  doing  all  that  you  had 
taught  me.  So  1  did  when  I  was  made  a 
prisoner  in  the  dark  tower,  and  so  I  would  do 
now  that  I  am  blest  with  sight  of  you  and 
service.  But  when  I  cried  for  you  at  Gracedieu 
you  came  not,  and  when  I  came  to  warn  you  of 
your  peril  you  hoped  for  Roy,  and  seeing  me 
your  looks  fell.  And  I  knew  this  must  be  so, 
and  would  have  gone  back  to  Gracedieu  had  you 
told  me.  For  t4ien  I  should  still  have  been  rich 
with  what  you  had  given  me  once.  Now  even  I 
will  go,  asking  but  one  thing  of  you  for  a  mercy, 
that  you  do  not  send  me  away  beggared  of  what 
you  gave  me  before." 

"  And  what  did  I  give  you,  Isoult  ? "  he 
whispered. 

"  'Twas  your  honour  to  keep,  my  lord,"  said 
the  girl. 

He  had  been  looking  at  her  long  before  she 
made  an  end,  but  not  before  she  had  gathered 
strength  from  her  theme.  When  he  did  look  he 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  large  and  dark ;  honesty 
and  clear  courage  burned  steadily  there;  the 
candles  reflected  in  them  showed  no  flickering. 
She  had  her  hands  crossed  over  her  bosom  as  if 
to  hold  a  treasure  close:  her  treasures  were  her 
ring  and  her  faithful  heart.  He  knew  now  that 
he  could  not  gain  her  for  this  turn,  wife  or  no 
wife ;  in  this  great  mood  of  hers  she  would  have 


ROY  199 

killed  herself  sooner  than  let  him  touch  her ;  and 
when  she  had  ended  her  say  he  knew  that  she 
had  spoken  the  truth,  a  truth  which  put  him  to 
shame.  Like  a  spoilt  boy  rather  than  a  rogue  he 
began  to  plead,  nevertheless.  He  went  on  his 
knees,  unbound  her  two  hands  and  held  them, 
trying  to  win  his  way  by  protestations  of  love 
and  desire.  The  words,  emptied  of  all  fact  by 
this  time  (for  the  boy  was  honest  enough),  rang 
hollow.  She  looked  down  at  him  sadly,  but  very 
gently,  denying  him  against  all  her  love.  The  fool 
went  on,  set  on  his  own  way.    At  last  she  said — 

"  Lord,  such  love  as  thou  hast  for  me  Galors 
hath  also.  And  shall  I  let  my  looks  undo  me 
with  thee,  and  thee  with  me  ?  I  will  follow  thee 
as  a  servant,  and  never  leave  thee  without  it  be 
thy  will.  I  beseech  of  thee  deface  not  thine  own 
image  which  I  carry  here.     Now  let  me  go." 

She  touched  herself  upon  the  breast.  This 
was  how  she  drove  the  evil  spirit  out  of  him. 
He  got  up  from  his  knees  and  thanked  her 
gruffly.  His  words  came  curt  and  sharp,  with 
the  old  order  in  the  tone  of  them ;  but  she  knew 
that  he  was  really  ordering  himself.  She  held 
out  her  hand,  rather  shyly — for,  the  battle  won, 
the  conquered  had  resumed  command — he  took 
and  kissed  it.  She  turned  to  go.  The  evil  spirit 
within  him  lifted  up  a  bruised  head. 

"  By  God ! "  cried  he,  "  you  shall  lie  in  the  bed 
and  I  at  the  door !  " 

And  so  it  was,  and  so  remained,  while  High 
March  held  the  pair  of  them.  By  which  it  will 
appear  that  the  evil  spirit  was  disposed  in  pious 
uses. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

boy's  love 

Maulfry  did  not  appear  at  High  March 
either  the  next  day,  or  the  next.  In  fact,  a  week 
passed  without  any  sign  from  her,  wliich  sufficed 
Isoult  to  avoid  the  tedious  attentions  of  the 
maids,  and  to  attract  those  of  the  Countess  of 
Hauterive.  This  great  lady  had  been  prepared 
to  be  gracious  to  the  page  for  the  sake  of  the 
master.  She  had  not  expected  the  master  to  show 
his  appreciation  of  her  act  by  leaving  her  alone. 
The  two  of  them  were  very  much  together ; 
Prosper  was  beginning  to  court  his  wife.  The 
Countess  grew  frankly  jealous  of  Roy ;  and  the 
more  she  felt  herself  slipping  in  her  own  esteem, 
the  more  irritated  with  the  boy  did  she  grow. 
She  had  long  admitted  to  herself  that  Prosper 
pleased  her  as  no  man  had  ever  done,  since  Fulk 
de  Breaute  was  stabbed  on  the  heath.  In  pursu- 
ance of  this  she  had  waived  the  ten  years  of  age 
between  herself  and  the  youth.  It  seemed  the 
prerogative  of  her  rank.  If  she  thought  him  old 
enough,  he  was  old  enough,  pardieu.  If  she 
went  further,  as  she  was  prepared  to  do  ;  if  she 
said,  "  You  are  old  enough,  Prosper,  for  my 
throne.     Come ! "    and    he    did  not    come,  she 


BOY'S   LOVE  20I 

had  a  sense  that  there  was  lese  majeste  lurking 
where  there  should  only  be  an  aching  heart. 
The  fact  was,  that  she  began  to  hate  Roy  very 
heartily ;  it  would  not  have  been  long  before  she 
took  steps  to  be  rid  of  him,  had  not  fortune 
saved  her  the  trouble,  as  must  now  be  related. 
Isoult,  it  is  to  be  owned,  saw  nothing  of  all  this. 
Having  once  setded  herself  on  the  old  footing 
with  her  lord  and  master,  wherein,  if  there  was 
nothing  to  gain,  there  was  also  nothing  to  lose, 
the  humble  soul  set  to  work  to  forget  her  late 
rebellion,  and  to  be  as  happy  as  the  shadow  of 
Maulfry  and  the  uncompromising  shifts  of  the 
enamoured  Melot  would  allow.  As  for  Prosper's 
courting,  it  shall  be  at  once  admitted  that  she 
discerned  it  as  little  as  the  Countess's  malevolent 
eye.  He  hectored  her  rather  more,  expected 
more  of  her,  and  conversed  with  her  less  often 
and  less  cheerfully  than  had  been  his  wont.  It 
is  probable  that  he  was  really  courting  his 
wounded  susceptibilities. 

About  a  week  after  the  adventure  of  the  bed- 
chamber, as  she  was  waiting  in  the  hall  with  the 
crowd  of  lacqueys  and  retainers,  some  one 
caught  her  by  the  arm.  She  turned  and  saw 
Vincent. 

He  was  hot.  excited,  and  dusty,  but  very  much 
her  servant,  poor  lad. 

"  Dame  Maulfry  is  here,"  he  whispered  her. 

"  Where  ? " 

"  You  will  see  her  soon.  She  is  tricked  in  the 
figure  of  a  dancing  woman,  an  Egyptian.  She 
will  come  telling  fortunes  and  shameful  tales. 
And  she  means  mischief,  but  not  to  you." 


202  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Ah !     How  do  you  know  that,  Vincent  ?  " 

"  She  talked  very  often  to  herself  when  we 
were  in  the  forest.  We  have  been  to  many 
places — Wan  meeting,  Waisford,  There  is  no 
doubt  at  all.  '  Kill  the  buck  and  you  have  the 
doe '  :  she  said  it  over  and  over  again.  We  have 
seen  the  sick  man.  He  is  quite  well  now,  and 
very  strong.  She  is  to  kill  your  lord  and  take  you 
alive.  She  seems  to  hate  him.  I  can't  tell  you  why. 
Which  is  your  lord  of  all  those  on  the  dais  ?  " 

"  Hush.  There  he  sits  on  the  right  hand  of 
the  Countess.  He  is  talking  to  her  now.  Look, 
she  is  laughing." 

"  Oh,  he  is  tall.  He  looks  light  and  fierce, 
like  a  leopard.  How  high  he  carries  his  head ! 
As  if  we  were  of  another  world." 

"So  we  are,"  said  Isoult. 

Vincent  sighed  and  went  on  with  his  story. 
"  I  have  run  away  from  Maulfry.  She  left  me 
to  wait  for  her  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  with 
three  horses,  just  as  I  was  at  Gracedieu — do 
you  remember?  But  I  could  never  do  that 
again.     Now  I  must  hide  somewhere." 

"  Come  with  me.     I  will  hide  you." 

She  took  him  to  the  buttery  and  gave  him 
over  to  the  cook-maids.  She  told  Melot  that 
this  was  a  fellow  of  hers  who  must  be  tended 
at  all  costs.  Melot  made  haste  to  obey,  sighing 
like  a  gale  of  wind.  Isoult  had  rather  asked  any 
other,  but  time  pressed.  She  hurried  back  to 
the  hall  to  take  her  proper  place  at  table,  and 
going  thither,  made  sure  that  her  dagger  slid 
easily  in  and  out.  She  was  highly  excited,  but 
not  with  fear — elated  rather. 


BOY'S   LOVE  203 

Supper  passed  safely  over.  The  Countess 
withdrew  to  the  gallery,  and  Prosper  followed 
her  as  his  duty  bound  him.  He  was  still 
thoughtful  and  subdued,  but  with  a  passing  flash 
now  and  again  of  his  old  authority,  which  served 
to  make  a  blacker  sky  for  the  love-sick  lady. 
The  sounds  of  music  came  gratefully  to  Isoult ; 
for  once  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  him.  She 
sped  back  to  Vincent,  enormously  relieved  that 
the  field  of  battle  was  to  be  narrowed.  Maulfry 
would  have  been  awkward  in  the  open ;  she  knew 
she  could  hold  her  in  the  passages.  There  were 
two  things  to  be  prevented,  observe.  The  knife 
must  not  discover  Prosper,  nor  Maulfry  Isoult. 
The  latter  was  almost  as  important  on  Prospers 
account  as  the  former.  Isoult  knew  that.  She 
knew  also  that  it  must  be  risked  of  the  two  ;  but 
in  the  passages  she  could  deal  with  it. 

Vincent  was  sitting  by  the  fire  between  Melot 
and  Jocosa,  another  of  the  maids.  Melot  bit 
her  lip,  and  edged  away  from  him  as  Isoult  came 
in. 

"  Girls,"  said  the  redoubtable  Roy,  with  scant 
ceremony, "  I  have  to  speak  to  my  mate." 

Melot  bounced  out  of  the  room.  Jocosa 
loitered  about,  hoping  for  a  frolic.  A  chance 
look  at  Master  Roy  seemed  to  convince  her  that 
she  too  had  better  go. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  Isoult  made  haste 
to  eat  and  drink.  Between  the  mouthfuls  she 
said — 

"  She  has  not  come  yet." 

"  No,"  said  Vincent,  "  but  she  will  come  soon. 
There  is  time  enough  for  what  she  has  to  do. 


204  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

She  had  to  wait  till  it  was  dark.  She  never 
works  in  daylight." 

"  We  are  safe  now,"  Isoult  said. 

"  How  is  that — safe  ?  " 

"  She  will  never  see  my  lord  except  through 
me.  The  doorward  will  bring  her  to  me,  or  me 
to  her.     Then  I  shall  be  sent  to  my  lord." 

"  And  will  you  go,  Isoult  r  " 

"  Never." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

Isoult  looked  down  at  her  belt,  whither  Vincent's 
eyes  followed  hers. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  will  you  dare  do  that  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  dare  for  him." 

Thereupon  Vincent  pulls  out  his  dagger  as 
bravely  as  you  please. 

"  Isoult,"  says  he,  "  this  is  man's  work.  You 
leave  her  to  me." 

"•  Man's  work,  Vincent  ?  "  But  she  could  not 
bear  to  finish  the  sentence,  so  changed  it. 
"  Man's  work  to  stab  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Man's  work,  Isoult,  to  shield  the  lady  one 
loves — honours  I  should  say." 

"  Yes,  that  is  better." 

"  No,  it  is  worse.  Oh !  Isoult,  may  I  not 
love  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"But  how  can  I  help  it  .^  I  do  love  you. 
What  can  prevent  me  .?  " 

Isoult  coloured. 

"  Love  itself  can  prevent  you,  Vincent." 

"  Oh !  you  are  right,  you  are  wise,  you  are 
very  holy.  I  have  never  thought  of  such  things 
as  that.     And  is  that  true  love  ?  " 


BOYS   LOVE  205 

"  Love  should  kill  love,  if  need  were." 

"  Love  shall,"  said  Vincent  in  a  whisper. 
Whereupon  Isoult  smiled  on  him. 

They  fell  to  chatting  again,  discussing  possi- 
bilities, or  facts,  which  were  safer  ground. 
Isoult  heard  the  stroke  of  ten.  Presently  after, 
the  page-in-waiting  sang  out  a  challenge.  A 
shuffling  step  stopped,  a  cracked  voice  asked  for 
Messire  Prosper  le  Gai. 

"  Maulfry !  "  said  Vincent  with  a  shiver. 

"  Hush ! " 

"It  is  late  to  see  Messire,"  said  the  page. 

*'  He  will  see  me  none  the  less,  young  gentle- 
man." 

"  Wait  where  you  stand.  I  will  fetch  his 
squire." 

Isoult  got  up.  Vincent  was  already  on  his 
feet. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  girl.  "  We  must  get  rid  of 
Balthasar." 

Balthasar  came  in  with  his  message  to  Roy. 
Isoult  affected  to  know  all  about  it.  She  sent 
Balthasar  off  to  find  a  sealed  package,  which  did 
not  exist,  in  a  turret  room  where  it  could  not 
have  been.     Balthasar  went.     He  was  a  dull  boy. 

"  Now,"  said  Isoult,  and  led  the  way  into  the 
passage. 

It  was  pretty  dark  there  and  draughty.  A 
flickering  cresset  threw  a  flare  of  light  one 
minute,  and  was  shrivelled  to  a  blue  spark  the 
next.  It  sufficed  them  to  see  a  tall  beribboned 
shape,  a  thing  of  brown  skin  and  loose  black  hair 
— a  tall  woman  standing  at  a  distance.     Side  by 


2o6  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

side  Isoult  and  Vincent  went  down  towards  her. 
Half-way  Isoult  suddenly  stopped  and  beckoned 
Maulfry  forward  with  her  hand.  The  fact  was 
that  she  had  seen  how  near  the  woman  stood  to 
the  guard-room  door ;  she  wished  to  do  her 
business  undisturbed.  Vincent,  however,  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  guard-room,  had  a  theory 
that  Isoult  was  frightened. 

Maulfry  came  bowing  forward.  Isoult  turned 
and  walked  slowly  away  from  her,  Vincent  in 
company  and  on  the  watch  ;  Maulfry  followed, 
gaining.  By  the  buttery  door  Isoult  suddenly 
stopped  and  faced  round.  Maulfry  was  before 
her. 

"  Maulfry,"  -said  the  girl  quietly,  "  what  do  you 
want  with  my  lord  ?  " 

Maulfry's  eyes  shifted  like  lightning  from  one 
to  the  other.  She  felt  her  rage  rising,  but  swal- 
lowed it  down. 

"  You  little  fool,"  she  said,  "  you  little  fool,  his 
life  is  in  danger." 

*'  I  have  warned  him,  Maulfry.  It  was  in 
danger." 

"  Warned  him !  I  can  do  better  than  that. 
Why,  your  own  is  as  shaky  as  his.  You  have 
brought  it  about  by  your  own  folly,  and  now 
you  are  like  to  let  him  be  killed.  Take  me  to 
him,  child,  for  his  sake  and  yours." 

"  You  will  never  see  him,  Maulfry." 

Maulfry  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two.  She 
was  very  angry  at  this  trouble. 

"  You  are  a  great  fool  for  such  a  little  body, 
Isoult,"  she  said ;  "  more  than  I  had  believed. 
Come  now,  let  me  pass."     She  made  to  go  on : 


BOY'S   LOVE  307 

Isoult,  to  get  ready,  stepped  back  a  step,  but 
Vincent  slipped  in  between  them.  He  was  shaking 
all  over. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  dame,"  he  said. 

Maulfry  gave  a  jump. 

"  Bastard  I "  She  spat  at  him,  and  whipped  a 
knife  into  his  heart,  Vincent  sobbed,  and  fell 
with  a  thud.  In  a  trice  Isoult  had  struck  with 
her  dagger  at  Maulfry's  shoulder.  Steel  struck 
steel :  the  blade  broke  short  off  at  the  haft. 

A  guard  came  out  with  a  torch,  saw  the  trouble, 
and  turned  shouting  to  his  mates.  Half-a-dozen 
of  them  came  tumbling  into  the  passage  with 
torches  and  pikes.  There  was  a  great  smoke, 
some  blinding  patches  of  light,  everywhere  else 
a  sooty  darkness.  By  the  time  they  were  up  to 
the  buttery  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a 
boy  sitting  on  the  flags  with  a  dead  boy  on  his 
knees.  Maulfry  had  gone.  As  for  Vincent, 
Love  had  killed  love  sure  as  fate. 

When  Prosper  heard  of  it  all  he  was  very  angry. 
"  Is  this  how  you  serve  me,  child  ?  To  fight 
battles  for  me  ?  I  suppose  I  should  return  the 
compliment  by  darning  your  stockings.  I  had 
things  to  say  to  this  woman,  many  things  to 
learn.  You  have  bungled  my  plans  and  vexed 
me. 

Isoult  humbled  herself  to  the  dust,  but  he 
would  not  be  appeased. 

"  Who  was  this  boy  ?  "  he  asked  her.  "  What 
on  earth  had  he  to  do  in  my  affair  ?  " 

"  Lord,"  she  said  meekly,  "  he  died  to  save  me 
from  death,  and  once  before  he  risked  his  life  to 
let  me  escape  from  Tortsentier." 


2o8  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Prosper  felt  the  rebuke  and  got  more  angry. 

"  A  fool  meets  with  a  fool's  death.  Boys  and 
girls  have  no  business  with  steel.  They  should 
be  in  the  nursery." 

"  I  was  in  prison,  lord." 

He  remembered  then  that  she  might  have 
stayed  in  prison  for  all  his  help.  He  began  to 
be  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Child,"  he  said  more  gently,  "  I  did  wrong  to 
be  angry ;  but  you  must  never  thwart  my  plans. 
The  boy  loved  you  ?  " 

"  Few  have  loved  me,"  said  she,  "  but  he  loved 
me. 

"  Ah !     Did  he  tell  you  so  r  " 

"  Yes,  lord;-' 

''  And  what  did  you  say  to  that,  Isoult  ? " 

*'  I  told  him  how  love  should  be." 

"  So,  so.  And  how  do  you  think  that  love 
should  be  ? " 

"Thus,  lord,"  said  Isoult,  looking  to  Vincent's 
heart. 

Prosper  turned  pale.  There  were  deeps,  then, 
of  which  he  had  never  dreamed. 

"  Isoult,"  he  said,  "  did  you  love  this  boy  who 
so  loved  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  rather  pitifully.  "  Ah, 
no !  " 

"  But  yet  you  told  him  how  he  should  love 
you .'' 

"  Nay,  lord,  but  I  told  him  how  I  should 
ove. 

"  You  must  have  studied  much  in  this  science, 
my  child." 

"  I  am  Isoult  la  Desirous,  lord." 


BOY'S   LOVE  209 

Prosper  turned  away.  There  was  much  here 
that  he  did  not  understand,  and  that  night  before 
he  went  to  sleep  at  her  door  he  kissed  her  fore- 
head— it  would  have  been  her  hand  if  his  dignity 
had  dared — and  then  they  prayed  together  as  once 
in  the  forest. 

Afterwards  he  was  glad  enough  to  remember 
this. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

lady's  love 

For,  notwithstanding  all  that  Isoult  could  urge 
(which  was  very  little  indeed),  Prosper  started 
next  morning  with  a  dozen  men  to  scour  the 
district  for  Maulfry.  He  refused  point  blank 
to  take  the  girl  with  him,  and  after  her  rebuke 
and  abasement  of  the  night  before,  still  more 
after  the  reconciliation  on  knees,  she  dared  not 
plead  overmuch.  He  was  a  man  and  a  great 
lord  ;  she  could  not  suppose  that  she  knew  all 
his  designs — any  of  them,  if  it  came  to  that. 
He  must  go  his  way — which  was  man's  way — and 
she  must  stop  at  High  March  nursing  her  heart 
— which  was  woman's  way — even  if  High  March 
proved  a  second  Gracedieu  and  Isabel  a  more 
inexorable  Maulfry.  No  act  of  her  own,  she 
resolved,  should  henceforward  lead  her  to  dis- 
obey him.  Ah !  she  remembered  with  a  hot 
flush  of  pain — ah  !  her  disobedience  at  Grace- 
dieu had  brought  all  the  mischief,  Vincent's  death 
all  the  anguish.  Of  course  it  had  not ;  of  course 
Maulfry  had  tricked  her;  but  she  was  not  the 
girl  to  spare  herself  reproaches.  Her  loyalty  to 
Prosper  took  her  easily  the  length  of  stultification. 
So  Prosper  went ;  and  it  may  be  some  consola- 


LADY'S   LOVE  an 

tion  to  reflect  that  his  going  pleased  fourteen 
people  at  least.  First  it  pleased  the  men  he  took 
with  him ;  for  Prosper,  that  born  fighter,  was 
never  so  humorous  as  when  at  long  odds  with 
death.  Fighting  seemed  a  frolic  with  him  for 
captain ;  a  frolic,  at  that,  where  the  only  danger 
was  that  in  being  killed  outright  you  would  lose 
a  taste  of  the  certain  win  for  your  side.  For 
among  the  High  March  men  there  was  already 
a  tradition — God  knows  how  these  things  grow 
— that  Prosper  le  Gai  and  the  hooded  hawk 
could  not  be  beaten.  He  was  so  cheerful,  victory 
so  light  a  thing.  Then  his  cry — Bide  the  time — 
could  anything  be  more  heartening  ?  Rung  out 
in  his  shrill  tones  over  the  open  field,  during  a 
night  attack,  say,  or  called  down  the  darkening 
alleys  of  the  forest,  when  the  skirmishers  were 
out  of  each  other's  sight  and  every  man  faced  a 
dim  circle  of  possible  hidden  foes  ?  Pest  1  it  tied 
man  to  man,  front  to  rear.  It  tied  the  whole 
troop  to  the  brain  of  a  young  demon,  who  was 
never  so  cool  as  when  the  swords  were  flying,  and 
most  wary  when  seeming  mad.  Blood  was  a 
drink,  death  your  toast,  at  such  a  banquet.  And 
that  accounts  for  twelve  out  of  fourteen. 

The  thirteenth  was  Countess  of  Hauterive, 
Chatelaine  of  High  March,  Lady  of  Morgraunt, 
etc.  A  very  few  days  inhabitancy  where  Master 
Roy  was  of  the  party,  had  assured  this  lady  that 
the  page  must  be  ridded.  She  wished  him  no 
ill :  you  do  not  wish  ill  to  the  earwig  which  you 
brush  out  of  the  window.  Certainly  if  a  boy  had 
needs  be  stabbed  by  an  Egyptian  (who  incontinent 
disappears  and  must  be  hunted)  it  were  simpler 


212  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Roy  had  fallen  than  the  other.  But  she  had  no 
thought  of  amending  the  mistakes  of  Providence. 
Great  ladies  who  are  really  great  do  not  go  to 
work  to  have  inconvenient  lacqueys  stabbed.  This 
at  least  was  not  the  Countess  of  Hauterive's  way. 
If  Fulk  de  Breaute  had  not  been  her  lover  as  well 
as  her  husband,  if  he  had  been  (for  instance)  only 
her  husband,  she  would  have  despised  Earl  Roger 
fully  as  much  for  the  affair  on  Spurnt  Heath. 
No.  But  she  meant  Roy  to  go,  and  here  was 
her  chance. 

The  fourteenth  was  Melot,  a  maid  of  the 
kitchen.  This  young  woman,  whose  love  affairs 
were  at  least  as  important  in  her  own  eyes  as  could 
possibly  be  those  of  the  Countess  her  mistress 
(whom  she  had  hardly  ever  seen),  or  of  Prosper 
(whom  she  conceived  as  a  sexless  abstraction, 
built  for  the  purposes  of  eating  and  wearing  steel), 
or  of  Roy  (who,  she  assumed,  had  none) — this 
young  woman,  I  say,  was  best  pleased  of  them 
all.  She  was  perhaps  pretty ;  she  had  a  certain 
exuberant  charm,  I  suppose — round  red  cheeks, 
round  black  eyes,  even  teeth,  and  a  figure — and 
was  probably  apt  to  give  it  the  fullest  credit. 
Roy's  indifference,  or  reticence,  or  timidity  (which 
ever  it  was)  provoked  her.  There  was  either  inno- 
cence, or  backwardness,  or  e?i7mi  to  overcome: 
in  any  case,  victory  would  be  a  triumph  over  a 
kitchenful  of  adepts,  and  here  was  a  chance  of 
victory.  So  far  she  owned  to  failure  in  all  the 
essays  she  had  made.  She  had  tried  comrade- 
ship, a  bite  of  her  apple — declined.  She  had  put 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  more  than  once — endured 
once,  checked  effectively  by  sudden  removal  of 


LADY'S    LOVE  2E3 

the  shoulder  and  upsetting  of  the  lady  a  final 
time.  She  leaned  over  him  to  see  what  he 
was  reading — he  ceased  reading.  Comradeship 
was  a  mockery  ;  let  her  next  try  mischief.  For 
happy  mischief  the  passionist  must  fume  :  he  had 
looked  at  her  till  she  felt  a  fool.  She  had  tried 
innuendo — he  did  not  understand  it;  languishing 
— he  gladly  left  her  to  languish;  coquetry  else- 
where— he  asked  nothing  better.  She  thought 
she  must  be  more  direct ;  and  she  was. 

Isoult  was  in  the  pantry  alone  the  second  day 
of  Prosper's  quest.  She  stood  at  gaze  out  of  the 
window,  seeing  nothing  but  dun-colour  and  drab 
where  the  sunlight  made  all  the  trees  golden-green. 
Melot  came  in  with  a  great  stir  over  nothing  at 
all,  hemmed,  coughed,  sighed,  heighoed.  The 
block  of  a  fellow  stood  fast,  rooted  at  his  window 
— gaping.  Melot  was  stung.  She  came  to  close 
quarters. 

"  Oh,  Roy,"  she  sighed,  "  never  was  such  a 
laggard  lad  with  me  before.  Where  hast  thou 
been  to  school  ?  " 

Thereupon  she  puts  hands  upon  the  dunce, 
kisses  him  close,  grows  sudden  red,  stammers, 
holds  off,  has  the  wit  to  make  sure — and  bundles 
out,  blazing  with  her  news. 

In  twenty  minutes  it  was  all  over  the  castle ; 
Prosper's  flag  was  higher,  and  Isoult's  in  the 
mire.  In  thirty  it  had  come  to  my  lady's 
dresser.  Isoult,  in  the  meantime,  purely  un- 
conscious of  anything  but  a  sick  heart,  had 
wandered  up  into  the  ante-chamber,  and  was 
poring  over  a  Book  of  Hours  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  leaning  on  her  elbows  at  a  table. 


214  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

The  dresser,  having  assimilated  the  news,  was 
only  too  happy  to  impart  to  the  Countess.  This 
she  did,  and  with  more  detail  than  the  truth 
would  warrant.  Half  hints  became  whole,  back- 
stairs whispers  shouted  in  the  corridors ;  and  all 
went  to  swell  the  feast  of  sound  in  the  lady's 
chamber.  It  would  be  idle  to  say  that  the 
Countess  was  furious,  and  moreover  untrue,  for 
that  implies  a  scarlet  face ;  the  Countess  grew  as 
grey  as  a  dead  fire.  She  was,  in  truth,  more 
shocked  than  angry,  shocked  at  such  a  flagrant 
insult  to  her  mere  hospitality.  But  gradually,  as 
the  whole  truth  seemed  to  shape  itself — the  figure 
she  made,  standing  bare  as  her  love  had  left  her 
before  this  satyr  of  a  man  ;  the  figure  of  Prosper, 
tongue  in  the  cheek,  leering  at  her ;  the  figure  of 
Isoult,  a  loose-limbed  wanton  sleepy  with  vice — 
before  this  hideous  trinity,  when  she  had  shud- 
dered and  cringed,  she  rose  up  trembling,  pos- 
sessed with  a  really  imperial  rage.  And  if  ever 
a  grievously  flouted  lady  had  excuse  for  rage,  it 
was  this  lady. 

Her  rages  were  never  storms,  always  frosts. 
These  are  the  more  deadly,  because  they  give 
the  enraged  more  time.  So  she  said  very  little 
to  her  dresser.  It  came  to  this — "  Ah !  And 
where  is  the  woman   now  ?  " 

The  dresser  replied  that  when  she  had  passed 
by  the  woman  was  in  the  ante-chamber. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Countess,  "  you  may 
leave  her  there.  Go."  She  pointed  to  a  door 
which  led  another  way.  The  dresser  felt  baulked 
of  her  just  reward.     But  that  was  to  come. 

The  Countess,  still  trembling  from  head   to 


LADY'S    LOVE  215 

foot,  took  two  or  three  swift  turns  across  the 
room.  The  few  gentle  lines  about  her  face  were 
more  like  furrows ;  the  skin  was  very  tight  over 
the  lips  and  cheek-bones.  She  opened  the  door 
softly.  Isoult  was  still  in  the  ante-chamber, 
leaning  over  the  Book  of  Hours,  wherein  she  had 
found  treated  of  the  '  Seven  Sorrowful  Mysteries.' 
Her  short  hair  fell  curling  over  her  cheeks ;  but 
she  was  boyish  enough,  to  sight.  The  Countess 
went  quickly  behind  her,  and  before  the  girl 
could  turn  about  was  satisfied  of  the  amazing 
truth. 

Isoult,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  stood 
up.  Her  troubled  eyes  tried  at  first  to  meet  her 
accuser's  stony  pair.  They  failed  miserably; 
almost  any  plight  but  this  a  girl  can  face.  She 
hung  her  head,  waiting  for  the  storm. 

"  Why  are  you  here,  woman  ?  "  came  sharp  as 
sleet. 

"  I  came  to  warn  my  lord,  madam." 

"  What  are  you  to  him  ?  " 

Now  for  it ; — no,  never !  "  I  am  his  servant, 
madam." 

*'  His  servant  ?     You  would  say  his "   The 

Countess  spared  nothing.  Isoult  began  to  rock. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed 
dry. 

"Answer  me,  if  you  please,"  continued  the 
Countess.     "  What  are  you  to   this   man  ?  " 

Isoult  had  no  voice. 

"If  you  do  not  answer  me  I  shall  treat  you 
for  what  I  know  you  are.  You  know  the  penalty. 
I  give  you  three  minutes," 

There  was  no  more  then  from  the   Countess 


2i6  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

for  three  minutes  by  the  glass.  The  great  lady 
stood  erect,  cold  and  white,  seemingly  frozen  by 
the  frost  which  burns  you.  The  only  sound  in 
the  room  was  the  sobbing  of  the  cowed  girl,  who 
also  stood  with  hidden  face  and  drooping  knees, 
broken  with  sobs,  but  tearless.  Ah,  what  under 
heaven  could  she  do  but  as  she  did  ?  Married 
to  Prosper  ?  How,  when  he  had  not  declared  it ; 
had  receiv^ed  her  as  his  servant,  and  treated 
her  as  a  servant  ?  How,  when  she  knew  that  the 
marriage  of  such  as  he  to  such  as  she  was  a  dis- 
ablement far  more  serious  than  the  relationship 
thrown  at  her  by  the  Countess?  How,  above 
all,  when  he  had  married  her  for  charity,  without 
love  and  without  worship,  could  she  bring  scorn 
upon  him  who  had  dragged  her  out  of  scorn? 
Never,  never !  She  must  set  her  teeth  hard,  bow 
her  head,  and  endure.     The  time  was  up. 

"  Your  answer,  woman,"  said  the  Countess. 
There  was  none — could  be  none.  Only  the 
victim  raised  a  white  twitching  face  to  a  white 
stony  face,  and  with  desperate  eyes  searched  it 
for  a  ray  of  pity.  Again  there  was  none — could 
be  none. 

The  Countess  went  quickly  up  and  struck  her 
on  the  mouth  with  her  open  hand.  The  victim 
shivered,  but  stood. 

"  Go,  strumpet !  "  said  the  lady.  She  threw 
open  the  door,  and  thrust  Isoult  into  the  crowd 
of  men  and  maids  waiting  in  the  corridor. 

Master  Jasper  Porges,  the  seneschal,  was  the 
man  of  all  the  world  who  loved  to  have  things 
orderly  done.  The  hall  was  at  his  disposition; 
he  arranged  his  tribunal,  the  victim  in  the  midst, 


LADY'S    LOVE  217 

accuser  and  witnesses  in  a  body  about  his  stool, 
spectators  to  form  a  handsome  ring — to  set  off, 
as  it  were,  his  jewel. 

"  Her  ladyship  gives  me  a  free  hand  in  this 
affair,"  he  said  in  a  short  speech.  "  You  could 
not  have  a  better  man ;  leave  it  to  me  therefore. 
There  must  be  a  judge.  By  office,  by  years,  by 
weariness,  by  experience  of  all  (or  most)  ways  of 
evil-doing,  I  am  the  judge  for  you.  Good ;  I 
sit  in  the  seat  of  judgment.  There  must  be  next 
a  jury  of  matrons,  since  this  is  a  free  and  great 
country  where  no  man  or  woman  (whichever  this 
prisoner  may  be)  can  be  so  much  as  suspected  of 
sex  without  a  judgment.  And  since  we  have  not 
matrons  enough,  we  will  make  a  shift  with  the 
maids.  A  dozen  of  you  to  the  benches  on  the 
table,  I  beg.  So  far,  good.  We  need  next  an 
accused  person.  He,  or  she,  is  there.  Put  the 
person  well  forward,  if  you  please.  Good.  Now 
we  are  ready  for  our  advocates;  we  need  an 
Advocatus  Dei,  or  accuser,  and  an  Advocatua 
Diaboli,  or  common  enemy,  to  be  defender. 
Melot,  my  chicken,  you  are  advocate  for  God 
Almighty,  and  the  office  is  high  enough  for  you, 
I  hope.  Diaboli  Advocatus  we  have  naturally 
none,  since  this  is  a  Christian  land.  Believe  me, 
we  are  better  without  such  cattle.  I  proceed, 
therefore,  by  the  rules  of  logic  which  are  well 
known  to  be  irresistible,  so  much  so  that  had 
there  been  a  devil's  advocate  present  I  must  have 
declined  to  admit  him  lest  our  Christian  profes- 
sion be  made  a  mock.  Hence  it  follows  that 
there  is  no  defence.  One  might  almost  foretell 
the   event ;  but   that  would   be   prejudice.     We 


21 8  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

proceed  then  to  interpolate  the  accused,  saying — 
'  Person,  you  (being  a  man)  are  strangely  ac- 
cused of  being  a  woman.  The  court  invites  you 
to  declare  yourself,  adding  this  plain  rider  and 
doom,  that  if  you  declare  yourself  a  man,  you 
are  condemned  in  the  person  of  your  familiar,  the 
devil,  who  deceiveth  those  that  say  you  are  a 
woman ;  and  that  if  you  prove  to  be  a  woman, 
you  are  condemned  by  those  who  dealt  with  you 
as  a  man.     Therefore,  declare.' " 

Master  Porges  waited,  but  waited  in  vain.  He 
was  pained.  "  What,  silence  ? "  he  whispered 
awfully.  "  What,  contumacy  ?  Stubborn  re- 
fusal ?  Sinking  in  sin  ?  Can  I  believe  my  ears  ? 
Very  good,  prisoner,  very  good.  Melot,  my  bird 
of  paradise,  give  your  evidence." 

This  had  effect.  "  I  confess,"  said  the  accused 
(speaking  for  the  first  time),  "  I  am  not  a  man." 

"  There  now,  there  now,"  cried  Master  Porges 
in  an  ecstasy,  "  the  sleeper  awakened  !  The  con- 
science astir!  Oh,  infallible  fount  of  justice! 
Oh,  crown  of  the  generation  of  Adam  too  weighty 
for  the  generation  of  Eve!,  Observe  now,  my 
loving  friends,  how  beautiful  the  rills  of  logic 
flowing  from  this  stricken  wretch.  Let  me  de- 
duce them  for  you.  As  thus.  A  woman  seeketh 
naturally  a  man :  but  this  is  a  woman  ;  therefore 
she  sought  naturally  a  man.  My  friends,  that  is 
just  what  she  did.  For  she  sought  Messire 
Prosper  le  Gai,  a  lord,  the  friend  of  ladies. 
Again.  A  man  should  cleave  unto  his  wife :  but 
Messire  le  Gai  is  a  man,  therefore  Messire 
should  cleave  unto  his  wife.  *La,  la!'  one  will 
say,  '  but  he  hath  no  wife,   owl !  '  and  think  to 


LADY'S   LOVE  219 

lay  me  flat.  Oh,  wise  fool,  I  reply,  take  another 
syllogism  conceived  in  this  manner  and  double- 
tongued.  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  live 
alone ;  neither  is  it  good  for  a  lady  to  live 
alone,  who  hath  a  great  estate  and  the  cares 
of  it :  but  Messire  Prosper  is  that  man,  and  her 
ladyship  is  that  lady ;  therefore  they  should 
marry ;  therefore  Messire  Prosper  should  cleave 
unto  her  ladyship,  and  what  the  devil  hath 
this  woman  to  do  between  a  man  and  his  wife 
now?  Aha,  I  have  you  clean  in  a  fork.  I 
have  purposely  omitted  a  few  steps  in  my  ladder 
of  inference  to  bring  it  home.  Then,  look, 
Cometh  crawling  this  accursed.  0  tem.pora,  0 
Mores !  0  Pudor !  0  Saecula  Saecidorum ! 
What  incontinency,  you  will  say;  and  I  say. 
What,  indeed !  Then  cometh  fairly  your  turn. 
Seneschal,  you  go  on  threatening  me,  this  is  a 
Christian  castle  under  a  Christian  lady,  the  laws 
whereof  are  fixed  and  stable  so  that  no  man  may 
blink  them.  I  say,  Aye.  You  go  on  to  plead, 
noble  seneschal  (say  you),  give  us  our  laws  lest 
we  perish.  I  see  the  tears;  I  say,  Aye.  The 
penalty  of  incontinency  is  well  known  to  you ;  I 
say,  Aye.  It  is  just.  I  bow  my  head,  I  say. 
Take  your  incontinent  incontinently,  and  deal!" 

Master  Porges  got  off  the  table,  and,  ceasing 
to  be  a  justice,  became  a  creature  of  his  day. 
Now,  his  day  was  a  wild  one  as  his  dwelling  a 
barbarous,  where  the  remedy  for  most  offences 
was  a  drubbing. 

Isoult  bowed  her  head,  set  her  teeth  hard,  and 
bent  to  the  storm.  The  storm  burst  over  her, 
shrilled,  whistled,  and  swept  her  down.     In  her 


220  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

unformulate  creed  Love  was,  sure  enough,  a 
lord  of  terrible  aspect,  gluttonous  of  blood,  in 
whose  service  nevertheless  the  blood-letter  should 
take  delight.  No  flagellant  scored  his  back 
more  deeply  nor  with  braver  heart  than  she  her 
smitten  side.  It  would  appear  that  she  was  a 
better  Christian  than  she  suspected,  since  she 
laid  down  her  life  for  her  friend,  and  found 
therein  her  reward.  And  her  reward  was  this, 
that  Prosper  le  Gai,  the  gallant  fighter,  remained 
for  Melot  and  her  kind  a  demi-god  in  steel,  while 
she,  his  wife,  was  adjudged  to  the  black  ram.  To 
the  black  ram  she  was  strapped,  face  to  the  tail, 
and  so  ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  yelling  host  in  the 
courtyard,  and  of  the  Countess  of  Hauterive's 
chill  gaze  from  the  parvise.  By  this  time  she 
had  become  a  mere  doll,  poor  wretch ;  and  as 
there  is  no  pleasure  in  a  love  of  justice  which  is 
not  quickened  by  a  sense  of  judgment,  the  pur- 
suers tired  after  the  first  mad  bout.  Some, 
indeed,  found  that  they  had  hurt  themselves 
severely  by  excess  of  zeal.  This  was  looked  upon 
as  clear  evidence  of  the  devil's  possession  of  a 
tail,  in  spite  of  the  Reahsts.  For  if  he  had  not 
a  tail,  how  could  he  injure  those  who  drove  him 
out  ?     This  is  unanswerable. 

The  end  of  it  all  was  that  no  more  than  three 
great  hearts  pursued  the  black  ram  with  its 
wagging  burden  into  the  forest.  Of  whom  one, 
feeling  the  fatuity  of  slaying  the  slain,  or  having, 
it  may  be,  some  lurking  seed  of  nominalism 
fomenting  within,  beat  off  the  others  and  un- 
strapped the  victim's  arms  and  legs. 

"  Though  you  are  a  wanton,  God  knows,"  he 


LADY'S   LOVE  121 

said,  "you  are  flesh  and  blood,  or  were  so  an 
hour  ago.  Be  off  with  you  now,  and  learn  honest 
living." 

This  was  irony  of  fact,  though  not  of  intention. 
It  was  prompted  by  that  need  which  we  all  have 
of  fortifying  ourselves.  But  it  probably  saved 
the  girl's  life.  The  men  withdrew,  and  she  lay 
there  quiet  enough,  with  a  bloody  foam  on  her 
mouth,  for  two  nights  and  a  day. 

It  is  said,  I  know  not  how  truly,  that  the  ram 
stayed  by  her,  was  found  standing  there  when 
she  was  found.  It  is  like  enough ;  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  the  animal,  beyond  the  wild  beast 
savour,  about  Isoult.  She  was  certainly  no 
formularist ;  nor  had  she  the  reward  of  those  who 
do  well  to  be  angry,  which  lies,  I  suppose,  in 
being  able  to  drub  with  a  whole  heart. 


CHAPTER   XX 

HOW    PROSPER    HELD    A    REVIEW 

Messire  Prosper  le  Gai  with  his  dozen  men 
had  scoured  the  forest  country  from  March  on 
the  east  to  Wanmeeting  on  the  west,  and  from 
March- Gilbert  among  the  hills  of  the  north  to 
Gracedieu  in  -Mid-Morgraunt,  without  any  sign 
of  the  Egyptian.  But  at  Wanmeeting  there  had 
been  news  of  a  golden  knight,  who,  unattended, 
rode  into  the  market-place  at  sunset  asking  the 
whereabouts  of  Galors  de  Born  and  his  force. 
Having  learned  that  they  had  taken  the  Goitres 
road  the  knight  had  posted  off  at  a  gallop,  hot 
foot.  Now  Prosper  knew  what  sort  of  a  force 
Galors  might  have  there,  and  guessed  (from  what 
intelligence  Isoult  had  added  to  his  own)  that  the 
golden  knight  would  make  at  least  two  brains 
in  it.  To  follow,  to  get  his  dozen  men  killed, 
were  nothing  ;  but  could  he  be  certain  Galors 
would  be  dropped  and  Maulfry  secured  for  the 
appointed  branding  before  the  last  of  them  fell  ? 
As  for  his  own  life,  we  know  that  he  considered 
that  arranged  for.  He  habitually  left  it  out  of 
the  reckoning.  On  the  whole,  however,  he  de- 
cided that  he  could  not  successfully  attack.  He 
must  return  for  reinforcements,  taking  with  him 


HOW   PROSPER    HELD   A   REVIEW        233 

a  report  which,  he  rehed,  would  secure  them. 
Waisford  had  been  raided,  the  fields  about  it  laid 
waste.  There  were  evidences  of  burnings  and 
slaughterings  on  all  hands.  He  put  what  heart 
he  could  into  the  scared  burgesses  before  he  left, 
and  what  common-sense.  But  Galors  had  gone 
through  like  a  hot  wind. 

So  Prosper  and  his  men  returned  to  High 
March.  On  the  morning  in  which  Isoult  stirred 
to  open  her  loaded  eyes,  and  began  to  moan  a 
little,  he  and  they  went  by  within  some  forty  yards 
of  her — the  troopers  first,  then  himself  riding 
alone  behind  them.  He  heard  the  moaning 
sound  and  looked  up  ;  indeed,  he  saw  the  black 
ram  standing,  alone  as  he  thought,  with  drooped 
head.  Prosper  was  full  of  affairs.  "  Some  ewe 
but  lately  yeaned,"  he  thought  as  he  rode  on. 
The  glaze  swam  again  over  Isoult's  eyes,  and  the 
moaning  grew  faint  and  near  its  death.  The  ram 
fell  to  licking  her  cheek.  In  this  pass  she  was 
presently  found  by  a  charcoal-burner,  who  had 
delivered  his  loads,  and  was  now  journeying  back 
with  his  asses  into  the  heart  of  the  forest.  He 
also  heard  the  moaning;  he  too  saw  the  ram. 
Perhaps  he  knew  more  of  the  habits  of  ewes  or 
had  them  readier  in  mind.  He  may  have  had 
no  affairs.  The  beast,  at  any  rate,  was  a  ram  for 
him,  and  the  licked  cheek  that  of  a  murdered 
boy  who  lay  with  the  other  cheek  on  the  sward. 
The  blood  about  his  eyes  and  hair,  the  blood  on 
the  grass,  was  dry  blood  ;  nevertheless  the  man 
turned  him  over,  felt  his  bones,  listened  at  his 
heart,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  was  not 
dead,     A  little  wine  to  his  lips  brought  him  to. 


224  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

The  charcoal-burner  looked  into  the  wounds  and 
washed  them,  produced  black  bread,  goat's-milk 
cheese,  with  a  little  more  wine,  finally  helped  the 
beaten  lad  to  his  feet  and  to  one  of  his  asses. 
He  assumed  it  was  a  fight  and  not  a  failure  to 
murder  :  that  was  safer  for  him.  With  the  same 
view  he  asked  no  questions.  It  was  a  pity  to 
leave  the  ram,  he  thought.  Butcher's  meat  was 
scarce.  He  killed  it  then  and  there,  having 
plenty  of  asses  to  hand.  In  that  category,  with 
little  doubt,  must  be  placed  the  ram  in  question, 
who,  had  he  had  a  proper  abhorrence  of  persons 
who  rode  him  face  to  the  tail,  would  have  kept 
his  skin  and  lived  to  found  a  family. 

The  charcoal-burner,  when  all  was  made  fast, 
set  his  team  in  motion.  Man,  woman,  and  asses, 
they  ambled  off  down  the  green  alley  towards  the 
middle  holds  of  Morgraunt. 

Prosper  and  his  men,  lords  of  those  parts,  went 
on  their  way  home  to  High  March.  The  men 
disposed  in  their  lodging,  Prosper  himself  rode 
under  the  gateway  of  the  castle,  crossed  the 
drawbridge,  and  entered  the  courtyard  amid  the 
mock  salutes  of  the  grinning  servants.  Full  of 
thought  as  he  was,  vexed  at  his  check,  curiously 
desiring  to  see  Isoult  again  (who  had  such 
believing  eyes  ! ),  he  took  no  heed  of  all  this,  but 
dismounting,  called  for  his  page.  At  this  there 
was  a  hush,  as  when  the  play  is  to  begin.  Then 
Master  Porges  the  seneschal,  solemnly  awaiting 
him,  solemnly  blinked  at  him,  and  cleared  his 
throat  for  a  speech. 

"  Messire,"  he  said,  "  Messire,  to  call  for  a 
page  is  an  easy  matter,  but  to  answer  for  a  page 


HOW   PROSPER   HELD   A   REVIEW        225 

is  a  difficult  matter."     He  loved  periphrasis,  the 
good  Forges. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  my  dear  friend  ? " 
said  Prosper  blandly,  defying  periphrasis. 

"  Messire,"  went  on  Master  Porges,  hard  put 
to  it,  "  to  answer  you  were  to  defile  the  tongue 
God  hath  given  me  for  her  ladyship's  service. 
To  obey  is  better  than  sacrifice.  Her  present 
obedience  is  that  I  should  request  your  presence 
in  the  ante-chamber  the  instant  of  your  appearing 
before  these  halls." 

''  You  will  do  me  the  honour,  seneschal,"  said 
Prosper,  growing  polite,  "  to  answer  my  question 
first." 

"  I  will  send  for  the  girl  Melot,  Messire,'* 
answered  Master  Porges. 

"You  shall  send  for  whom  you  please,  my 
friend,  but  you  shall  answer  my  question  before 
you  move  from  that  step." 

The  seneschal  did  not  move  from  the  step. 
He  sent  a  loiterer  to  fetch  Melot  from  the  kitchen, 
while  Prosper  waited,  the  centre  of  an  entranced 
crowd. 

"  Ah,  the  suffering  maid  !  "  cried  the  seneschal 
as  he  saw  Melot  near  at  hand.  "My  maid, 
you  must  speak  to  Messire  in  answer  to  a  ques- 
tion he  put  me  but  a  few  minutes  since.  Messire, 
my  girl,  asked  for  his  page." 

Melot's  heart  began  to  thump.  The  steel 
demigod  was  before  her,  she  unprepared.  The 
fire  was  laid,  but  wanted  kindling.  Prosper 
kindled  it  for  his  own  consuming. 

"■  Pray  what  has  this  woman  to  do  here  ? "  he 
asked. 

Q 


226  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Woman  indeed  !  "  rounded  Melot,  breathing 
again.  "Woman!  do  you  call  me  names, 
Messire?  Keep  them  for  the  baggage  you 
fetched  in  !  " 

Prosper  saw  the  whole  thing  in  a  flash.  He 
grew  still  more  polite. 

"  Seneschal,"  he  said,  "  have  the  goodness  to 
inform  your  mistress  of  my  coming.  Pray  that 
I  may  wait  upon  her  immediately.  ...  I  think," 
he  added  after  a  pause,  "  I  think  that  you  had 
better  go  at  once." 

The  seneschal  agreed  that  he  had.     He  went. 

Prosper  waited  in  silence,  in  a  crowd  equally 
silent. 

The  seneschal  shortly  returned. 

^'  Her  ladyship  will  see  Messire  at  once.  I 
beg  Messire  to  follow  me." 

He  entered  the  Countess's  chamber,  and,  lifting 
his  head,  looked  at  a  white  lady  on  a  throne. 
He  had  never  seen  her  so  before.  She  was 
dressed  in  pure  white,  with  a  face  near  as  dead  as 
her  clothes.  All  that  was  dark  about  it  haunted 
her  masked  eyes.  She  sat  with  her  chin  in  her 
hand,  looking  and  waiting  for  him ;  when  he 
came,  and  the  seneschal  was  dismissed  with  a 
curt  nod,  she  still  sat  in  the  same  dead  fashion, 
watchful  of  her  guest,  unwinking,  pondering. 
Prosper,  for  his  part,  bided  the  time.  He  guessed 
what  was  coming,  but  a  word  from  him  might 
have  put  him  in  the  wrong. 

In  the  end  the  Countess  broke  the  long  silence. 
He  thought  he  had  never  heard  her  voice ;  it 
sounded  like  that  of  a  tired  old  woman. 

"I  had  thought  to  find  in  you,  my  lord,  the 


HOW   PROSPER    HELD   A   REVIEW         227 

son  of  an  old  friend,  like  in  spirit  as  in  blood  to 
him  whom  at  first  I  sought  to  honour  in  you. 
1  find  I  have  been  mistaken,  but  for  your 
father's  sake  I  will  not  tell  you  how  much  nor 
by  what  degrees.  Rather  I  will  beg  you  go  at 
once  from  my  house." 

Said  Prosper — 

"  Madam,  for  my  father's  sake,  if  not  for  mine, 
you  will  tell  much  more  than  this  to  his  son. 
Have  your  words  any  hint  of  reference  to  the 
Lady  Isoult?  Speak  of  her,  madam,  as  you 
would  speak  of  my  mother,  for  she  is  my  wife." 

The  Countess  shrank  back  in  her  throne  as  if 
to  avoid  a  whip.  She  cowered  there.  Her  eyes 
dilated,  though  she  seemed  incapable  of  seeing 
anything  at  all;  her  mouth  opened  gradually — 
Prosper  expected  her  to  scream — till  it  formed  a 
round  O,  a  pale  ring  circling  black.  Prosper, 
having  delivered  his  blow,  waited  in  his  turn ; 
though  his  breath  whistled  through  his  nostrils 
his  lips  were  shut,  his  head  still  very  high.  The 
blow  was  a  shrewd  one  for  the  lady.  You  might 
have  counted  twenty  before  she  began  to  talk  to 
herself  in  a  whisper.  Prosper  thought  she  was 
mad. 

"  I  should  have  known — I  should  have  known 
— I  should  have  known,"  she  whispered,  very  fast, 
as  people  whisper  on  a  death-bed. 

"  Madam,"  he  broke  in,  "  certainly  you  should 
have  known  had  it  seemed  possible  to  tell  you. 
Even  now  I  can  tell  you  no  more  than  the  bare 
fact,  which  is  as  I  have  stated  it.  And  so  it 
must  be  for  the  moment,  until  I  have  completed 
an  adventure  begun.     But  so  much  as  I  tell  you 


228  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

now  I  might  have  told  you  before.  It  is  shame 
to  me  that  I  did  not.  Marriage  to  me  is  a  new 
thing,  love  still  a  strange  thing.  Had  I  thought 
then  as  I  now  do,  be  sure  you  would  never  have 
seen  me  here  without  my  wife,  whom  now, 
madam,  I  will  pray  leave  to  present  to  you,  the 
Lady  Isoult  le  Gai." 

During  this  narration  the  Countess  had  risen 
slowly  to  her  feet.  She  was  labouring  under 
some  stress  which  Prosper  could  not  fathom. 
For  a  little  she  stood,  working  her  torture  before 
him.  Then  she  suddenly  smote  herself  on  the 
breast  and  cried  at  him — "  You  have  done  more 
misery  than  you  can  dream."  And  again  she 
struck  herself,  and  then,  coming  down  from  her 
throne  Uke  a  wild  thing,  she  shrieked  at  him  as 
if  possessed — "  You  fool,  you  fool !  Look  at 
me!" 

He  could  not  help  himself;  look  he  must. 
She  came  creeping  up  to  him.  She  caught  at 
his  two  hands  and  peered  into  his  face  with  her 
blind  eyes. 

"  Do  you  love  Isoult,  Prosper  ? " 

He  could  hardly  hear  her.  But  he  raised 
his   head. 

"By  God  and  His  Christ,  I  believe  that  I 
do,"  said  he. 

The  Countess  took  a  dagger  from  her  girdle, 
unsheathed  it,  and  put  it  in  his  hand.  She  knelt 
down  before  him  as  a  woman  kneels  to  a  saint  in 
a  church.  With  a  sudden  frenzy  she  tore  open 
the  front  of  her  gown  so  that  all  her  bosom  was 
bare,  and  then  as  suddenly  whipt  her  hands 
behind  her  back. 


HOW   PROSPER   HELD   A   REVIEW        229 

'*  Now  kill  me,  Prosper,"  she  whined ;  "  for  I 
love  thee,  and  I  have  killed  thy  love  Isoult." 

So  she  bowed  her  head  and  waited. 

But  Prosper  gave  a  terrible  cry,  and  turned 
and  left  her  kneeling.  He  ran  down  the  corridor 
blindly,  not  knowing  how  or  whither  he  fared. 
At  the  end  of  it  was  a  door  which  gave  on  to  the 
Minstrel  Gallery  over  the  great  hall.  Into  this 
trap  he  ran  and  fetched  up  against  the  parapet. 
Below  him  in  the  hall  were  countless  faces — as  it 
seemed,  a  sea  of  white  faces,  mouthing,  jeering, 
and  cursing.  He  stood  glaring  blankly  at  them, 
fetching  his  breath.  Words  flew  about — horrible  ! 
Out  of  all  he  caught  here  and  there  a  scrap,  each 
tainted  with  hate  and  unspeakable  disgrace. 

"  Come  down,  thou  polluter."  Again,  "  Serve 
him  like  his  wench." — "Trounce  him  with  his 
woman." — "  Send  the  pair  to  hell !  " 

The  dawning  attention  he  began  to  pay  sobered 
his  panic,  quenched  it.  What  he  learned  by 
listening  struck  him  cold.  He  took  pains;  he 
could  hear  every  word  now,  surely.  He  was 
really  very  attentive.  The  chartered  rascals 
packed  in  the  hall  took  this  for  irresolution,  and 
howled  at  him  to  their  hearts'  content.  Once 
more  Prosper  held  to  his  motto — bided  the  time. 
The  time  came  with  the  coming  of  Master 
Porges — that  smug  and  solemn  man — into  the 
assembly.  The  seneschal  looked  round  him 
with  a  benignant  air,  as  who  should  say,  "  My 
children  all ! "  The  listening  man  in  the  gallery 
watched  all  this. 

Suddenly  his  sword  flashed  out.  Prosper 
vaulted  over  the  gallery,  dropped  down  into  the 


230  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

thick  of  them,  and  began  to  kill.  Kill  indeed 
he  did.  Right  and  left,  like  a  man  with  a  scythe, 
he  sliced  a  way  for  himself.  There  were  soldiers, 
pikemen,  and  guards  in  the  press :  there  was 
none  there  so  tall  as  he,  nor  with  such  a  reach, 
above  all,  there  was  none  whose  rage  made  him 
cold  and  his  anger  merry.  However  they  were, 
they  could  scarcely  have  faced  the  hard  glitter 
of  his  blue  eyes,  the  smile  of  his  fixed  lips.  He 
could  have  carved  with  a  dagger,  with  a  blud- 
geon, a  flail,  or  a  whip.  As  it  was,  to  a  long 
arm  was  added  a  long  sword,  which  whistled 
through  the  air,  but  through  flesh  went  quiet. 
There  had  been  blows  at  first  from  behind  and 
at  the  side  of  him.  The  long  mowing  arms 
stayed  them.  It  became  a  butchery  of  sheep 
before  he  was  midway  of  the  hall,  thence  the 
rest  of  his  passage  to  the  door  was  between  two 
huddled  heaps,  with  not  a  flick  in  either. 

He  reached  his  goal,  shot  the  bolt,  and  turned, 
leaning  against  the  door.  The  heaped  walls  of 
that  human  sea  had  by  this  flowed  over  his  lane ; 
now  they  stood  eying  him  who  faced  them  and 
wiped  his  blade  with  a  piece  cut  from  the  arras 
— eying  him  askance  with  silly,  shocked  faces. 
Behind  them  a  few  grunted  or  sobbed ;  but  for 
the  most  part  he  had  done  his  work  only  too 
well. 

Having  wiped  exquisitely  his  sword  and 
sheathed  it,  Prosper  took  a  step  forward.  The 
heap  of  men  huddled  again. 

"  Let  one  go  to  fetch  Melot,"  he  said  softly. 

No  one  stirred. 

"  Let  one  go  to  fetch  Melot." 


HOW    PROSPER    HELD   A   REVIEW        231 

No  motion,  no  breath. 

"  Ah,"  said  he  as  if  to  himself,  and  laid  hand 
to  pommel. 

The  heap  shuddered  and  turned  on  itself.  It 
swarmed.  Finally,  like  a  drop  from  a  sponge, 
Master  Porges  exuded  and  stood  out,  a  sweating 
monument. 

"  Seneschal,"  said  Prosper,  with  a  bow,  "  I  am 
for  the  moment  about  to  ask  a  favour  of  you. 
Have  the  goodness  to  oblige  me."  He  unbolted 
the  door  and  held  it  open  for  the  man. 

Master  Porges  gasped,  looked  once  to  heaven, 
thought  to  pray. 

"  In  manus  tua.s,  Domine  !  "  he  sighed. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Prosper,  and  kicked  him  out. 
The  breathless  audience  was  resumed. 

A  timid  knocking — a  mere  flutter — at  the  door 
ushered  in  as  tip-toe  a  couple  as  you  might 
easily  see.  Master  Porges  fell  to  his  knees  and 
prayers ;  Melot  was  too  far  gone  for  that.  She 
simply  did  everything  she  was  told. 

"  Melot,"  said  Prosper,  "  you  will  tell  me  the 
whole  tale  from  the  beginning.  It  was  you  who 
first  knew  the  Lady  Isoult  ?  " 

•'  Yes,  Messire." 

"  It  was  you  who  told  the  others  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Messire." 

"  Your  mistress  then  saw  the  Lady  Isoult  r" 

"Yes,  Messire." 

"  What  happened  next  ?  " 

"  My  lady  struck  her,  and  pushed  her  into  the 
corridor,  Messire." 

"Ah!     And  then?" 

"And  we  were  all  there,  Messire." 


232  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Ah,  yes.     Waiting  ? " 

"  Yes,  Messire." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  Then  we  had  a  procession,  Messire." 

"  Who  ordered  it  ?  " 

'•  The  seneschal  had  the  ordering,  Messire." 

"  0  Pudor !  O  afflicted  liar ! "  prayed  Master 
Porges. 

But  the  tale  went  on.  The  afflicted  liar  for- 
got nothing  except  Master  Porges'  syllogisms. 
These  she  took  for  granted.  At  the  end  Prosper 
said  to  her — 

"  Melot,  you  may  go.  I  do  not  punish 
women,  and  you  have  only  done  after  your 
kind.     Go  to  the  others." 

The  pack  opened  and  swallowed  her  up. 
Prosper  turned  to  Master  Porges,  who  was 
gabbling  prayers  for  his  enemies. 

"  Master  Seneschal,"  he  said,  "  since  it  is  you 
who  have  driven  this  herd  of  hogs  to  do  your 
work,  now  I  shall  drive  them  to  do  mine.  And 
in  teaching  you  through  them  what  it  is  to  do 
villainy  to  ladies,  I  teach  them  through  you. 
They  could  not  have  a  better  guide  than  their 
headman ;  and  as  for  you,  I  will  take  care  that 
you  are  well  grounded  in  what  you  have  to 
teach." 

"  Ah,  Messire,"  babbled  the  shiny  rogue,  "have 
I  not  done  after  my  kind  also  ? " 

"  You  have  indeed,  my  friend,"  Prosper  replied. 
"  Now  I  will  do  after  mine." 

To  be  short,  he  had  Master  Porges  stripped, 
horsed,  and  stoutly  flogged  then  and  there.  This 
he  did  by  the  simple  device  of  calling  up  his 


HOW   PROSPER   HELD   A   REVIEW        233 

agents  by  name,  having  the  general's  knack  of 
judging  men.  Master  Forges  was  a  pursy  man, 
but  there  were  burlier  than  he ;  a  couple  of  lean 
stablemen  made  good  practice  with  the  stirrup- 
leathers.  At  the  end  the  entire  herd  were  his 
slaves.  One  fetched  his  horse,  another  his  shield 
and  spear,  three  fought  for  the  stirrup.  A  dozen 
would  have  shown  him  the  way  to  the  last  scene 
of  the  martyrdom  (for  so,  by  vivid  comparison, 
the  common  enthusiasm  conceived  it) ;  but  for 
this  he  chose  the  man  who  had  unstrapped  the 
girl.  This  worthy  had  not  failed  to  recommend 
himself  to  notice  on  that  score.  He  received 
his  reward.  Prosper  addressed  him  two  requests. 
The  first  was,  "  Lead,"  and  the  man  led  him. 
The  second  was,  "  Go,"  and  the  man  fled  back. 
Prosper  was  left  alone  before  a  form  of  bruised 
bracken  to  make  what  he  could  of  it. 

He  was  a  man  of  action,  not  given  to  reflec- 
tions, not  imaginative,  essentially  simple  in  what 
he  thought  and  did.  What  he  did  was  to  dis- 
mount and  doff  his  helmet.  Next,  with  the  butt 
of  his  spear,  he  battered  out  the  cognizance  on 
his  shield  till  nofesse  dancettee  rippled  there.  "  I 
will  bear  you  next  when  I  have  won  you,"  said 
he  to  the  maimed  arm.  Bare-headed  then  he 
knelt  before  the  form  in  the  fern  and  prayed. 

*'  Lord  God  of  heaven  and  earth,  now  at  last 
I  know  what  the  love  of  woman  is.  Let  my 
wife  learn  of  me  the  love  of  an  honest  man. 
And  to  that  end,  Father  of  heaven,  suflfer  me 
to  be  made  a  man.    Per  Christum  Dominum,'"  etc. 

At  the  end  of  his  prayer  he  knelt  on,  and 
what  drove  in  his  brain  I  know  not  at  all.     The 


234  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

unutterable  devotion  of  tliat  meek  and  humble 
creature  who  called  him  master  and  lord,  who 
had  lain  by  his  side,  walked  at  his  heels,  sat  at 
his  knee,  served  at  his  table,  put  his  foot  to  her 
neck  (she  so  high  in  grace,  he  so  shameless  in 
brute  strength!),  bowed  to  a  yoke,  endured  scorn, 
shame,  bleeding,  stripes,  blindness,  and  the 
swoon  like  death — all  this  was  something  beyond 
thought :  it  was  piercingly  sweet,  but  it  beat  him 
down  as  a  breath  of  flame.  He  fell  flat  on 
his  face  upon  the  black  fern  and  blood,  and  so 
stayed  crying  like  a  boy. 

When  he  got  up  he  buckled  on  his  helm, 
mounted,  and  rode  straight  for  Goitres. 

Master  Porges  knew  an  image-maker  at  March, 
and  paid  him  a  visit.  He  caused  to  be  made 
a  little  stone  figure  of  a  lady,  very  beautiful,  with 
a  brass  aureole  round  her  victorious  head.  She 
was  depicted  trampling  on  a  grinning  knight — 
evidently  the  devil  in  one  of  his  many  disguises, 
though  as  like  Prosper  as  description  could  pro- 
vide. Underneath,  on  the  pedestal,  ran  the 
legend — Sancta  Isolda  Dei  Genetrkis  Ancilla 
Ora  Pro  Nobis.  He  set  this  up  in  his  chamber 
over  a  faldstool,  and  said  three  Paters  and  nine 
Aves  before  it  daily.  He  reported  that  he  de- 
rived unspeakable  comfort  from  the  practice,  and 
for  my  part  I  believe  that  he  did. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

HOW    THE    NARRATIVE    SMACKS    AGAIN    OF    THE 
SOIL 

The  charcoal-burner's  convoy,  bearing  at  once 
the  evidence  and  the  reward  of  his  humanity,  a 
battered  lady  on  one  ass  and  her  flayed  friend  on 
another,  jogged  leisurely  through  the  forest  glades. 
The  time  was  the  very  top  of  spring,  the  morning 
soft  and  fair,  but  none  of  the  party  took  any 
heed  :  the  charcoal-burner  because  he  was  by 
habit  too  close  to  these  things,  Isoult  because  she 
was  in  a  faint,  the  black  ram  because  he  had  been 
skinned.  When  Isoult  did  finally  lift  her  head 
and  begin  to  look  timidly  about  her,  she  found 
herself  in  a  country  unfamiliar,  which,  for  all  she 
knew,  might  be  an  hour's  or  a  week's  journey 
from  High  March,  where  Prosper  was.  Prosper ! 
She  knew  that  every  mincing  step  of  the  donkey 
took  her  further  from  him,  but  she  was  powerless 
to  protest  or  to  pray ;  life  scarce  whispered  in  her 
yet.  And  what  span  of  miles  or  hours,  after  all, 
could  set  her  wider  from  him  than  discovery,  the 
shame,  the  yelling  of  her  foes,  had  hounded  her? 

In  this  new  blank  discomfiture  of  hers,  she  was 
like  one  who  has  been  taught  patiently  to  climb  by 
a  gentle  hand.     The  hand  trusts  her  and  lets  go 

235 


236  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

— down,  down  she  falls,  and  from  the  mire  at 
the  bottom  can  see  the  sunny  slopes  above  her, 
and  the  waiting  guide  stretched  at  rest  until  she 
come.  The  utter  abasement  of  her  state  numbed 
her  spirit ;  any  other  spirit  would  have  been 
killed  outright.  But  to  her  one  thing  remained, 
that  dull  and  endless  patience  of  the  earth  born, 
poor  clods  without  hope  or  memory,  who  from 
dweUing  so  hidden  in  the  lap  of  the  earth  seem 
to  win  a  share  of  its  eternal  sufferance.  Your 
peasant  will  bow  his  back  as  soon  as  he  can 
stand  upright,  and  every  year  draws  him  nearer  to 
the  earth.  The  rheumatics  at  last  grip  him  un- 
awares, and  clinch  him  in  a  gesture  which  is  a 
figure  of  his  lot.  The  scarred  hills,  the  burnt 
plains,  the  trees  which  the  wind  cows  and  lays 
down,  the  flowers  and  corn,  meek  or  glad  at  the 
bidding  of  the  hour — the  earth-born  is  kin  to 
these,  more  plant  than  man.  I  have  done  ill  if  I 
have  not  thus  expounded  Isoult  la  Desirous,  for 
without  such  knowledge  of  her  you  will  hardly 
understand  her  apathy.  She  had  been  lapped  so 
long  on  the  knees  of  earth  ;  her  flights  in  the 
upper  air  had  been  so  short,  and  her  tumble  with 
a  broken  wing  so  sharp,  that  she  resumed  the 
crouch,  the  bent  knees,  the  folded  arms,  the 
face  in  hands  of  the  earth-born,  with  hardly  a 
struggle.  If  she  had  been  meant  for  the  air, 
she  would  be  in  the  air ;  if  she  was  meant  to 
die  a  serf  as  she  had  lived,  why,  at  the  rate  she 
was  spending,  death  would  be  quick — ecco  !  The 
word  comes  pat  when  you  talk  of  such  lives  as 
hers,  for  the  Italian  peasant  is  the  last  of  the 
earth-born,  invincibly  patient. 


THE   NARRATIVE   SMACKS   OF   SOIL        237 

So  Isoult,  it  seems,  had  the  grace  to  know  how 
far  she  had  fallen,  but  not  the  wit  to  try  for 
redemption  once  more.  In  accepting  her  tumble 
for  a  fate,  I  think  it  is  clear  that  she  was  so  far 
earthy  as  to  be  meek  as  a  woodflower.  Says  she, 
If  the  rain  fall,  the  dew  rise,  the  sun  shine,  or 
wind  blow  mild,  each  in  their  due  season — well,  I 
will  look  up,  laugh  and  be  glad.  You  shall  see 
how  lovely  I  can  be,  and  how  loving.  If  the 
frost  bind  the  ground  in  May,  if  you  parch  me 
with  frozen  wind,  or  shrivel  me  with  heat,  or  let 
me  rot  in  the  soak  of  a  wet  June — ^well,  I  will 
bend  my  neck ;  you  will  see  me  a  dead  weed  ;  I 
shall  love  you,  but  you  shall  hardly  know  it.  If 
you  are  God,  you  should  know ;  but  if  you  are  a 
man — ah,  that  is  my  misfortune,  to  love  you  in 
spite  of  common-sense. 

Isoult  believed  she  was  abandoned  by  Prosper  ; 
she  believed  that  she  deserved  it.  She  must  be 
graceless,  would  die  disgraced,  having  served  her 
turn,  she  supposed.  If,  nevertheless,  she  persisted 
in  loving,  who  was  hurt  ?  Besides,  she  could  not 
help  it  any  more  than  she  could  help  being  a 
scorn  and  a  shame.  Fatalist !  So  it  was  with 
her. 

The  charcoal-burner  had  no  curiosity.  She 
hadn't  been  quite  murdered ;  she  was  a  boy ; 
boys  do  not  readily  die.  On  the  other  side,  they 
are  handy  to  climb  woodstacks,  labour-saving 
appliances — with  the  aid  of  an  ash-plant.  And 
he  was  a  clear  fat  sheep  to  the  good.  So  he 
asked  no  questions,  and  made  no  remarks  beyond 
an  occasional  oath.  They  slept  one  night  in  the 
thicket,  rose  early,  travelled  steadily  the  next  dayj 


238  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

and  in  course  reached  a  clearing,  where  there  were 
three  or  four  black  tents,  some  hobbled  beasts,  a 
couple  of  lean  dogs,  and  a  steady  column  of 
smoke,  which  fanned  out  into  a  cloud  overhead. 
Here  were  the  coal-stacks ;  here  also  she  found 
the  colliers,  half-a-dozen  begrimed  rufhans  with  a 
fortnight's  beard  apiece.  No  greetings  passed, 
nor  any  introduction  of  the  white-faced  boy  shot 
into  their  midst.  One  of  them,  it  is  true,  a  red- 
haired,  bandy-legged  fellow  called  Falve,  looked 
over  the  new-comer,  and  swore  that  it  was  hard 
luck  their  rations  should  be  shortened  to  fatten 
such  a  weed ;  but  that  was  all  for  the  hour. 

At  dusk,  supper-time,  there  was  a  cross-examin- 
ation, held  by  Falve. 

"  What's  your  name,  boy  ?  " 

"  Roy." 

"To  hell  with  your  echoes.  Where  do  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  can  you  do  ? " 

"As  I  am  bid." 

"Can  you  climb  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Cook?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Wink  at  a  woman  ?  " 

"  I  see  none." 

"  Fight  ? " 

"  At  need." 

"  Take  a  hcking  ?  " 

"  I  have  learnt  that." 

"  By  God  he  has,  I'll  warrant,"  chuckled  the 
man  who  had  found  her. 


THE   NARRATIVE   SMACKS   OF   SOIL       239 

"Hum,"  said  Falve.  "Are  you  hungry, 
Roy  ? " 

"No." 

"  Then  do  you  cook  the  supper  and  I'll  eat  it. 
Do  you  see  this  little  belt  o'  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It's  a  terror,  this  belt.  Don't  seek  to  be  nearer 
acquaint.     Go  and  cook." 

The  ram  proved  excellent  eating — tender  and 
full  of  blood.  Humane,  even  liberal,  counsels 
prevailed  over  the  sated  assembly.  The  boy 
seemed  docile  enough,  and  Hkely ;  just  a  Jack  of 
the  build  needful  to  climb  the  stacks  of  smoulder- 
ing boughs,  see  to  the  fires,  cord  the  cut  wood 
and  the  burnt  wood,  lead  the  asses,  cook  the 
dinner,  call  the  men — to  be,  in  fact,  what  Jack 
should  be.  Jack  he  was,  and  Jack  he  should  be 
called.  Falve  held  out  for  a  thrashing  as  a  set-off; 
it  seemed  unnatural,  he  said,  to  have  a  belt  and  a 
boy  at  arms'-length.  It  was  outvoted  on  account 
of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  but  only  delayed.  The 
beds  were  made  ready,  and  Jack  and  his  masters 
went  to  sleep. 

The  argument,  which,  holding  as  I  do  stead- 
fastly with  Socrates,  I  must  follow  whithersoever 
it  runs,  assures  me  that  charcoal-burning  is  a 
grimy  trade,  and  the  charcoal-burners'  Jack  the 
blackest  of  the  party  ;  for  if  he  be  not  black  with 
coal-smoke,  he  will  be  black  and  blue  with  his 
drubbings.  Isoult,  in  the  shreds  of  Roy,  grew, 
you  may  judge,  as  black  and  uncombed  as  any 
of  the  crew.  She  had  not  a  three  weeks'  beard, 
but  her  hair  began  to  grow  faster;  the  roses  in 
her  cheeks  were  in  flower  under  the  soot.     Her 


240 


THE   FOREST   LOVERS 


hair  curled  and  waved  about  her  neck,  her  eyes 
shone  and  were  limpid,  her  roses  bloomed  un- 
awares ;  she  grew  sinewy  and  healthy  in  the  kind 
forest  airs.  She  worked  very  hard,  ate  very  little, 
was  as  often  beaten  as  not.  All  this  made  for 
health ;  in  addition,  she  nursed  a  gentle  thought 
in  her  heart,  which  probably  accounted  for  as 
much  as  the  open  air.  This  was  the  news  of 
Prosper's  return  to  High  March,  and  of  the  fine 
works  he  performed  there  in  the  hall.  It  came  to 
her  in  a  roundabout  way  through  some  pony 
drovers,  who  had  it  from  Market  Basing.  The 
pietist  at  March,  who  made  the  image  of  Saint 
Isolda,  may  have  spread  the  news.  At  any  rate 
it  came,  it  seeded  in  her  heart,  and  as  she  felt 
the  creeping  of  the  little  flower  she  blushed.  It 
told  her  that  Prosper  had  avenged  her — more, 
had  owned  her  for  his.  This  last  grain  of  news  it 
was  which  held  her  seed.  If  he  owned  her  abroad 
— amazing  thought ! — it  must  be  that  he  loved 
her.  As  she  so  concluded,  a  delicate,  throbbing 
fire  fluttered  in  her  side,  and  stole  up  to  burn  un- 
reproved  and  undetected  in  her  cheeks.  Her 
reasoning  was  no  reasoning,  of  course ;  but  she 
knew  nothing  of  knightly  honour  or  the  dramatic 
sense,  so  it  seemed  incontrovertible.  At  this  dis- 
covery she  was  as  full  of  shame  as  if  she  had  done 
a  sin.  A  sin  indeed  it  seemed  almost  to  be  in 
her,  that  one  so  high  should  stoop  to  one  so  low, 
and  she  not  die  at  once.  Sacrilege — should  not 
one  die  rather  than  suffer  a  sacrilege  to  be  thrust 
upon  one  ?  So  Clytie  may  have  felt,  and  Oreithyia, 
when  they  discerned  the  God  in  the  sun,  or  wild 
embraces  of  the  wind. 


THE   NARRATIVE   SMACKS   OF   SOIL        241 

Yet  the  certainty — for  that  it  was — coincided 
with  her  lurking  suspicion  of  the  virtue  lying  in 
her  own  strong  love.  It  made  that  suspicion 
hardy ;  it  budded,  as  I  have  said,  and  bore  a 
flower.  She  could  feel  and  fondle  her  ring  again, 
and  talk  to  it  at  night.  "  Lie  snug,"  she  would 
say,  "  lie  close.  He  will  come  again  and  put 
thee  in  place,  for  such  love  as  mine,  which  en- 
dureth  all  things,  is  not  to  be  gainsaid."  Thus 
she  grew  healthy  as  she  grew  full  of  heart,  and 
gained  sleek  looks  for  any  who  had  had  eyes  to 
see  them. 

Luckily  for  her,  at  present  there  was  none.  It 
is  providence  for  the  earth-born  that  their  mother's 
lap  soon  takes  furrows  in  which  they  may  run. 
The  charcoal-burners'  hfe  was  no  exception:  hard 
work  from  dawn  to  dusk,  food  your  only  recrea- 
tion, sleep  your  only  solace.  The  weather  is  no 
new  thing  to  you,  to  gape  at  and  talk  about.  As 
well  might  the  gentry  talk  about  the  joys  of  their 
daily  bath.  You  have  no  quarrels,  do  no  sins, 
for  you  have  neither  women  nor  strong  waters  in 
your  forest  tents.  And  if  you  knew  how,  you 
would  thank  God  that  you  are  incapable  of 
thought,  since  a  thinking  vegetable  were  a  lost 
vegetable.  To  think  is  to  hope,  and  to  hope 
is  to  sin  against  religion,  which  says,  God  saw 
that  it  was  good.  More  than  any  reflecting  man 
your  earth-born  believes  in  God,  or  the  devil.  It 
comes  to  much  the  same,  if  you  will  but  work  it 
out.     He  is  a  deist,  his  God  an  autocrat. 

Isoult,  the  demure  little  freethinker,  had  another 
secret  god — him  of  the  iris  wings.  She  loved, 
she  was  loved  ;  she  dared  hope  to  be  happy.     So 


242  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

far  of  the  earth  as  to  be  humble,  so  far  from  it 
as  to  hope,  she  grew  in  the  image  of  her  god 
and  was  lovely;  she  remembered  the  precepts 
of  her  mother  earth  and  was  patient.  When- 
ever she  could  she  washed  herself  in  the  forest 
brooks ;  so  woods  and  running  water  saw  in  her 
the  blossoming  rod.  At  these  times  she  could 
have  hymned  her  god  had  she  known  how ;  but 
Prosper  had  only  taught  her  what  his  priests  had 
taught  him,  that  this  was  a  world  where  every  one 
is  for  himself,  and  to  him  that  asks  shall  be  given. 
To  him  that  asks  twice  should  be  twice  given. 
The  consequence  is  that  life  is  a  great  hunting, 
with  no  time  for  thanksgiving  unalloyed.  You 
must  end  your  Gloria  in  a  whining  petition. 
Having,  however,  nothing  to  ask,  she  sat  at  these 
times  in  ecstasy  inarticulate,  her  rags  laid  by  for  a 
season,  looking  long  and  far  through  the  green 
lattice  towards  the  blue,  bent  upon  exploration  of 
the  joyful  mysteries.  A  beam  of  the  sun  would 
fall  upon  her  to  warm  her  pale  beauty  and  make 
it  glow,  the  wind  of  mid-June  play  softly  in  her 
hair,  and  fold  her  in  a  child's  embrace.  Then 
again  she  would  toy  with  her  ring.  "  Ring, 
ring,  he  will  come  again,  and  put  thee  where  thou 
shouldest  be.  Meantime  lie  still  until  he  lie  there 
instead  of  thee." 

July  heats  stilled  the  forest  leaves ;  the  coal- 
stacks  grew  apace.  The  charcoal-burners'  Jack 
had  hair  to  his  waist  and  had  to  hide  it  in  his 
cap  ;  the  charcoal-burners'  beards  were  six  weeks 
old.  There  was  talk  of  nights  of  a  market  in 
Hauterive,  where  Falve's  mother  kept  a  huckster's 
shop. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

GALORS    CONQU/ESTOR 

Prosper's  aim  on  leaving  High  March  after  his 
gests  of  arms  had  been  Goitres,  for  there  he  had 
believed  to  find  Galors.  But  Galors  was  a  man 
of  affairs  just  now  who  had  gone  far  since  Isoult 
overheard  his  plans.  His  troop  of  some  sixty 
spears  had  grown  like  the  avalanche  it  resembled. 
For  what  the  avalanche  does  not  crush  it  turns 
to  crushing.  Galors  harrying  had  won  harriers. 
In  fact,  he  headed  within  a  fortnight  of  his  coming 
into  North  Morgraunt  a  force  which  was  the 
largest  known  since  Earl  Roger  of  Bellesme  had 
made  a  quietness  like  death  over  those  parts. 
By  the  time  of  Prosper's  exodus,  that  is  by  mid- 
May,  his  tactical  situation  was  this — it  is  as  well 
to  be  precise.  He  had  Hauterive  and  Waisford. 
Goitres  was  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  If  he 
could  get  Wanmeeting  he  would  be  master  of  the 
whole  of  the  north  forest,  west  of  Wan.  Here 
would  be  enormous  advantage.  By  a  forced 
march  and  a  night  surprise  he  might  get  Market 
Basing,  on  the  east  side  of  the  river;  and  if  he 
did  that  he  would  cut  the  Countess  of  Hauterive 
practically  off  the  whole  of  Morgraunt.  Going 
further,  so  far  as  to  cut  her  off  March,  whence 

24i 


244  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

she  drew  her  supplies,  she  would  be  at  his  mercy. 
He  could  pen  her  in  High  March  like  a  sheep, 
and  make  such  terms  as  a  sheep  and  a  butcher 
were  likely  to  arrange. 

For,  strategically,  North  Morgraunt  would  be 
his ;  with  that  to  the  good  South  Morgraunt 
could  await  his  leisure.  The  key  will  show  how 
the  Hauterive  saltire  stood  with  the  Galors  pale. 

G  © 

Goitres  -~>j  ^  M:.rch 

® 
High  March 


Wanmeeting  (g) 


Hauterive  (|  \  Market  Basins 


Waisford  (^ 


Now  the  whole  of  this  pretty  scheming  was 
based  upon  one  simple  supposed  fact,  that  the 
Countess's  daughter  was  then  actually  in  her 
mother's  castle.  Galors  knew  quite  well  that  he 
could  not  hold  Morgraunt  indefinitely  without 
the   lady.     Even    Morgraunt   was    part   of  the 


GALORS   CONQUiESTOR  245 

kingdom ;  and  though  rumour  of  the  King's 
troubles  came  down,  with  wild  talk  of  Aquardente 
from  the  north  and  Bottetort  from  the  south- 
west combining  to  slaughter  their  sovereign, 
the  King's  writ  would  continue  to  run  though 
the  king  that  writ  it  were  under  the  earth :  it 
was  unlikely  that  a  shire  would  be  let  fall  to  a 
nameless  outlaw  when  five  hundred  men  out  of 
Kingshold  could  keep  it  where  it  was.  But  a 
name  would  come  by  marriage  as  well  as  by 
birth.  All  his  terms  with  his  penned  Countess 
would  have  been,  amnesty  and  the  heiress. 

At  first  he  prospered  in  everything  he  under- 
took. Waisford  and  Hauterive  were  under- 
garrisoned,  and  fell.  Goitres,  very  remote,  was 
unimportant  except  as  a  base.  The  Countess 
at  this  time,  if  not  engaged  philandering  with 
Prosper,  was  troubled  on  the  northern  borders. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  Galors  had  been  able  to 
secure  that  no  messengers  to  High  March  should 
cross  Wan,  and  that  none  from  it,  having  once 
crossed,  should  ever  re-cross.  This  was  the  state 
of  affairs  when  Prosper  passed  the  edge  of  the 
High  March  demesnes  and  took  the  road  for 
Wanmeeting  and  Goitres. 

He  had  not  gone  far  out  of  the  Countess's 
borders  before  he  saw  what  had  happened.  The 
country  had  been  wasted  by  fire  and  sword : 
cottages  burnt  out,  trampled  gardens,  green  corn- 
lands  black  and  bruised — desolation  everywhere, 
but  no  life.  Death  he  did  come  upon.  In  one 
cottage  he  saw  two  children  dead  and  bound 
together  in  the  door\\'ay ;  at  a  four-went  way  a 
man   and   woman    hung   from    an   ash-tree ;    of 


24<5  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

a  farmstead  the  four  walls  stood,  with  a  fire  yet 
burning  in  the  rick-yard ;  in  the  duck-pond  be- 
fore the  house  the  bodies  of  the  owners  were 
floating  amid  the  scum  of  green  weed.  That 
night  he  slept  by  a  roadside  shrine,  and  next 
morning  betimes  took  the  lonely  track  again. 
Considering  all  this  as  he  rode,  he  reached  a 
sign-post  which  told  him  that  here  the  ways  of 
Wanmeeting  and  Waisford  parted  company. 
"  Wanmeeting  is  my  plain  road,"  thought  he, 
"but  plainer  still  it  is  that  of  Galors — and  not 
of  Galors  alone.  I  think  the  longer  going  is 
like  to  be  my  shorter.  I  will  go  to  Waisford." 
He  did  so.  After  a  patch  of  woodland  was  a 
sandy  stretch  of  road  fringed  with  heather  and 
a  few  pines.  A  man  was  sitting  here,  by  whose 
side  lay  his  dead  young  wife  with  a  handkerchief 
over  her  face.  Prosper  asked  him  what  all  this 
misery  meant ;  for  at  High  March,  he  added, 
they  had  no  conception  of  it. 

The  man  turned  his  gaunt  'eyes  upon  him. 
"  We  call  it  the  hand  of  God,  sir." 

"  Do  you  though  ?  I  see  only  the  hand  of 
man  or  the  devil,"  said  Prosper. 

"  May  be  you  are  in  the  right,  Messire.  Only 
we  think  that  if  God  is  Almighty  He  might  stay 
all  this  havoc  if  He  would.  And  since  He  stays 
it  not  we  say  He  winks  at  it,  which  is  as  good  as 
a  nod  any  day." 

"  You  are  out,  sir,"  said  Prosper.  "  As  I  read, 
God  hath  given  men  wits,  and  suffers  the  devil 
in  order  that  they  may  prove  them.  If  they  fail 
in  the  test,  and  of  two  ways  choose  the  wrong, 
is  God  to  be  blamed  ?  " 


GALORS   CONQUiESTOR  247 

"  Some  of  us  have  no  sucli  choice.  It  is  hard 
that  the  battle  of  the  wits  should  be  over  our 
acres,  and  that  our  skulls  should  be  cracked  to 
prove  which  of  them  be  the  tougher." 

"  God  is  mighty  enough  to  make  laws  and 
too  mighty  to  break  them,  as  I  understand  the 
matter,"  said  Prosper.  "  But  who,  under  God 
or  devil,  hath  done  this  wrong  ?  " 

"Sir,"  said  the  man,  "it  is  the  Lord  of 
Hauterive  (so  styled),  who  hath  taken  Waisford 
and  destroyed  it  with  the  country  for  ten  miles 
round  about  it,  and  killed  all  the  women  who 
could  not  run  fast  enough,  and  such  of  the  men 
as  did  not  run  to  him.  And  this  he  did  upon 
the  admirable  conceit  that  the  men,  having  no 
women  of  their  own,  would  take  pains  that  they 
should  not  be  singular  in  the  country,  but  full 
of  lessons  in  butchery,  would  become  butchers 
themselves.  It  seems  that  there  was  ground  for 
the  opinion.  As  for  me,  I  should  certainly  have 
been  killed  had  he  found  me,  for  butchering  is 
not  to  my  taste — or  was  not  then.  But  I  was 
on  a  journey,  and  came  back  to  find  my  house 
in  ashes  and  my  new  wife,  what  you  see." 

"  But  who,"  cried  Prosper,  "  in  the  name  of 
the  true  Lord,  is  your  lord  of  Hauterive  ?  And 
how  dare  he  take  upon  himself  the  style  and  fee 
of  the  Countess  of  Hauterive,  Bellesme,  and 
March  r  I  have  no  reason  to  love  that  lady, 
but  I  thought  all  Morgraunt  was  hers." 

"Morgraunt  is  hers,  and  Hauterive,  and  all 
the  country  from  March  unto  Wanmouth,"  said 
the  countryman.  "  But  this  lord  is  an  outlaw 
who  was  once  a  monk  down  at  Malbank  in  the 


248  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

south ;  and  hath  renounced  his  flock  and 
gathered  together  a  crew  as  unholy  as  himself. 
And  the  story  goes  that  he  did  it  all  for  the  sake 
of  a  girl  who  scorned  him.  Now  then  he  hold- 
eth  Hauterive  as  his  tower  of  strength,  has 
harried  Waisford,  and  threatens  Wanmeeting 
town,  giving  out  that  he  will  edge  in  the  lady, 
besiege  High  March  itself,  wed  the  Countess,  and 
have  the  girl  (when  he  finds  her)  as  his  con- 
cubine. So  he  will  be  lord  of  all,  and  God  of 
no  account  so  far  as  I  can  see.  And  the  name 
of  this  almighty  scamp,  Messire " 

"  Is  Galors  de  Born,"  put  in  Prosper. 

The  countryman  got  up  and  faced  him. 

"  Are  you  a  fellow  of  his  ?  "  he  asked.  "  For, 
look  you,  though  I  must  die  for  it,  I  will  die 
killing." 

"  Friend,"  Prosper  said  gently,  "  the  man  is 
my  enemy  whom  I  had  thought  disabled  longer 
by  a  split  throat  which  he  got  of  me.  I  see  I 
have  yet  to  deal  with  him.  Tell  me  now  where 
he  is." 

"  I  can  tell  you  no  more,"  said  the  fellow, 
"  than  that  his  tower  is  in  Hauterive.  He 
hath  guards  along  the  river  and  a  post  at 
Waisford.  We  shall  have  trouble  to  cross  the 
water.  He  is  said  to  be  for  Wanmeeting ;  but 
I  know  he  has  High  March  in  his  eye,  be- 
cause the  girl  he  wants  is  believed  to  be  there. 
He  has  been  here  also,  as  you  see,  God  damn 
him." 

"  God  hath  damned  him,"  said  Prosper,  "  but 
the  work  is  in  my  hands." 

"  You   will  need  more   than   your  hands  for 


GALORS   CONQUiESTOR  249 

the  business,  my  gentleman.  He  hath  five- 
hundred  spears." 

"The  battle  is  between  his  and  mine  never- 
theless." 

"Then  there  is  the  Golden  Knight,  as  they 
call  him,  come  from  hell  knows  where;  not  a 
fighter  but  a  schemer;  and  swift,  my  word! 
And  cruel  as  the  cold.     Will  you  tackle  him  ? " 

"  I  shall  indeed,"  said  Prosj3er.  "  Farewell, 
I  am  for  my  luck  at  Waisford." 

"  I  would  come  with  you  if  I  might,"  said  the 
man  slowly. 

"  Come  then.  Two  go  better  than  one  against 
five  hundred." 

"  Let  me  bury  my  pretty  dead  and  I  am  yours, 
Messire." 

"  Ah,  I  will  help  you  there  if  I  may,"  Prosper 
replied. 

They  dug  a  shallow  grave  and  laid  in  it  the 
body  of  the  young  girl.  Prosper  never  saw  her 
face,  nor  did  her  husband  dare  to  look  ao-ain  on 
what  he  had  covered  up.  Prosper  said  the 
prayers;  but  the  other  lay  on  his  face  on  the 
grass,  and  got  up  tearless.     Then  they  set  off. 

Five  miles  below  Waisford  they  swam  the 
river  without  any  trouble  from  Galors'  outposts : 
a  wary  canter  over  turf  brought  them  to  the 
flank  of  the  hill ;  they  climbed  it,  and  from  the 
top  could  see  the  Wan  valley  and  what  should 
be  the  town.  It  was  a  heap  of  stones,  scorched 
and  shapeless.  The  church  tower  still  stood 
for  a  mockery,  its  conical  cap  of  shingles  had 
fallen  in,  its  vane  stuck  out  at  an  angle.  Prosper, 
whose   eyes    were    good,    made    out   a   flagstaff 


250  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

pointing  the  perpendicular.  It  had  a  flag,  Parti/ 
per  pale  argent  and  sable.  A  dun  smoke  hung 
over  the  Utter. 

"  We  shall  do  little  good  there,"  said  he ; 
"  we  are  some  days  too  late.  We  will  try  Wan- 
meeting." 

Agreed.  They  fetched  a  wide  detour  to  the 
north-west,  climbed  the  long  ridge  of  rock  which 
binds  Hauterive  to  the  place  of  their  election, 
and  made  way  along  the  overside  of  it,  taking 
to  cover  as  much  as  they  could.  By  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening  they  were  as  near  as  they  dared 
to  be  until  nightfall.  As  they  stood  they  could 
see  the  ridge  rear  its  ragged  head  to  watch  over 
the  cleft  where-through  the  two  Wans  race  to 
be  free.  Upon  the  slope  of  this  bluft'  was  the 
town  itself,  a  walled  town  the  colour  of  the  bare 
rock,  with  towers  and  belfries.  The  westering 
sun  threw  the  whole  into  warmth  and  mellow 
light. 

"  The  saltire  still  floats,"  cried  Prosper ;  "  we 
are  not  too  late  for  this  time." 

They  were  let  in  at  dusk  by  the  Martin  Gate, 
not  without  some  parley.  The  only  word  Prosper 
would  give  had  been,  "  Death  to  Galors  de  Born." 
This  did  not  happen  to  be  the  right  word. 
Matters  were  not  to  be  adjusted  either  by  "  Life 
to  the  Countess,"  for  Prosper  did  not  happen  to 
wish  it  her.  The  High  Bailiff"  and  the  Jurats 
argued  at  some  length  whether  what  he  had 
said  did  not  imply  the  other  of  necessity. 

"  If  you  talk  of  necessity,  gentlemen,"  finally 
said  the  High  Bailiff',  "  in  my  advice  it  is  written 
that  our  necessity  is  too  fine  for  dialectic.     Our 


GALORS   CONQUiESTOR  251 

present  need  is  to  kill  the  common  enemy. 
Here  is  a  gentleman  who  asks  for  no  other 
pleasure.     Let  him  in."     And  they  did. 

Prosper  was  in  love  at  last;  but  he  did  not 
lose  his  head  on  that  account.  It  was  not  his 
way.  The  girl  he  had  first  pitied,  next  desired, 
then  respected,  then  learned,  finally  adored,  was 
gone.  Well,  he  would  find  her  no  doubt.  She 
had  but  two  enemies,  Galors  and  Maulfry,  who 
hunted  in  couple  just  now.  She  might  be  any- 
where in  the  world,  but  it  was  most  likely  that 
where  she  was  they  were  also.  If  he  found  them 
he  should  find  her.  That  was  why,  without 
having  any  desire  to  befriend  the  Countess,  who 
had  in  his  judgment  made  a  fool  of  herself  first 
and  an  enemy  of  him  afterwards,  he  undertook 
the  defences  of  Wanmeeting. 

For  it  came  to  that.  He  found  a  thin  garri- 
son, a  pompous  baihff,  wordy  and  precise,  head- 
boroughs  without  heads,  and  a  panic-stricken 
horde  of  shopkeepers  with  things  to  lose,  who 
spent  the  day  in  crying  "Danger,"  and  the  night 
in  drinking  beer.  Outside,  somewhere,  was  an 
enemy  who  might  be  a  rascal,  but  was  certainly 
a  man.  Professional  honour  was  touched  on  a 
raw.  Since  he  was  in,  in  God's  name  let  him 
do  something.  After  a  day  spent  in  observing 
the  manners  and  customs  of  Wanmeeting  in  a 
state  of  semi-siege,  he  got  very  precise  ideas 
of  what  they  were  likely  to  be  in  a  whole  one. 
He  called  on  the  High  Bailiff  and  spoke  his 
mind. 

"  Bailiff',"  he  said  very  quietly,  "  your  defences 
are  not  good,  but  they  are  too  good  to  defend 


252  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

nothing.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  put  your  citizens 
at  a  higher  figure.  There  does  not  seem  to  me 
to  be  a  man  among  them.  They  chatter  hke 
pies,  they  drinlc  hke  fishes,  they  herd  like  sheep, 
they  scream  hke  gulls.  They  love  their  wives 
and  children,  but  so  do  rabbits  ;  they  are  snug 
at  home,  but  so  are  pigs  in  a  stye ;  they  say 
many  prayers,  they  give  alms  to  the  poor.  But 
no  prayers  will  ever  stay  Galors,  and  the  alms 
your  people  want  I  spell  with  an  '  r.'  I  know 
Master  Galors,  and  he  me.  If  he  comes  here 
the  town  will  be  carried,  the  men  hanged,  the 
women  ravished,  and  I  shall  be  killed  like  a  rat 
in  a  drain.  Now  I  set  little  store  by  my  life, 
but  I  and  the  man  I  have  brought  with  me 
intend  to  die  in  the  open.  Do  what  you  choose, 
but  understand  that  unless  things  alter  to  my 
liking,  I  take  myself,  my  sword,  and  my  head 
for  affairs  into  the  country." 

"  And  who  are  you,  Messire,  and  what  do  I 
know  of  your  head  for  affairs  ?  "  cried  the  High 
Bailiff,  on  his  dignity. 

"  My  name  is  Prosper  le  Gai,  at  your  service," 
the  youth  replied ;  "  and  as  for  my  head,  it  becomes 
me  not  to  speak." 

*'  If  you  will  not  speak  of  it,  why  are  you 
here  ?  "  asked  the  High  Bailiff,  at  the  mercy  of 
his  logic. 

"  I  am  here,  sir,  for  the  purpose  of  killing  Dom 
Galors  de  Born." 

"  You  speak  very  confidently,  young  gentle- 
man." 

"There  is  no  boasting  where  there  is  no 
doubt." 


GALORS   CONQUiESTOR  253 

"Is  there  no  doubt,  pray,  whether  he  might 
kill  you  ? " 

"  I  intend  to  remove  that  doubt,"  said 
Prosper. 

"  Pray  how,  sir  ?  " 

"  By  killing  him  first." 

The  end  of  it  all  was  that  the  High  Bailiff,  in 
the  presence  of  the  Jurats  and  citizens,  solemnly 
girt  on  Prosper  the  sword  of  the  borough,  and 
declared  Messire  Prosper  le  Gai  of  Starning  to 
be  generalissimo  of  its  forces.  Prosper  at  once 
paraded  the  garrison. 

He  rated  the  men  roundly,  flogged  two  of 
them  with  his  own  hand  for  some  small  insubor- 
dination, and  made  fast  friends  in  all  ranks. 
Having  established  a  pleasant  relationship  by 
these  simple  means,  he  spoke  to  them  as  follows. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  '•  have  the  goodness  to 
remark  that  I  have  taught  you  how  to  parade. 
In  time  I  doubt  not  you  will  follow  me  with  as 
good  a  will  as  you  have  hitherto  followed  your 
own  devices.  These,  I  take  leave  to  tell  you, 
were  very  foolish.  If  you  follow  me  I  shall  lead 
you  in  the  thick  of  the  fighting,  should  there  be 
any.  If  you  leave  me,  or  if  I  have  the  honour 
to  be  killed,  you  will  all  have  your  throats  cut, 
I  do  not  mean  to  be  killed,  gentlemen,  and  rely 
upon  you  in  the  alternative  which  remains." 

He  took  a  guard  and  went  the  round  of  the 
defences.  Wherever  he  went  he  brought  heart 
with  him.  As  for  the  burgesses  and  the  bur- 
gesses' wives,  they  thought  him  a  god.  The 
result  was,  that  in  six  weeks  he  had  half  the  place 
under    arms,  a  fighting  force  of   one   thousand 


254  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

pikes  and  five  hundred  archers,  an  outer  wall  of 
defence  ten  feet  by  six,  and  provision  to  stand 
a  two  months'  siege.     This  brought  the  time  to 

On  July  14  one  of  his  scouts  brought  home 
the  news  that  Galors  had  concentrated  on  Haute- 
rive,  while  keeping  close  watch  along  Wan.  He 
himself  was  no  one  knew  where,  scouring  the 
country  for  traces  of  the  girl  Isoult  la  Desirous, 
who  had  escaped  from  High  March.  Meantime 
a  detached  force  under  the  Golden  Knight  had 
surprised  Goitres,  and  put  the  inhabitants  to  the 
sword.  They  held  that  stronghold,  and  were  said 
still  to  be  there. 

Prosper  sent  for  his  horse,  and  rode  down  to 
the  council  house  to  see  the  High  Bailiff. 

"  Bailiff,"  he  said,  "  Galors  will  not  be  here 
yet  awhile.  If  he  comes  you  will  know  what 
to  do.  But  I  do  not  think  he  will  come  just 
yet. 

"Ah,  Messire,  will  you  desert  us?  "  cried  the 
good  soul. 

"  If  you  put  it  so,  yes." 

"  You  are  tired  of  warfare,  Messire  ?  " 

"  Warfare,  pardieu !  I  am  tired  of  no 
warfare.  I  am  going  to  make  some  for  default 
of  it." 

"  And  leave  us  all  here  ? " 

"  And  leave  you  all  here." 

"Would  you  have  us  assume  the  offensive, 
sir?" 

"  By  no  means.  Bailiff.  I  would  have  you 
mind  your  walls.  But  forgive  me,  I  must  be 
off." 


GALORS   CONQU^STOR  255 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Messire  ?  " 

"  I    am    going   to    find   Galors,    or    at    least 

those    who   will   save   me   the    trouble.     Adieu, 

Bailiff." 

Prosper  galloped  away  as  if  the  devil  w^ere  in 

him.     The  High  Bailiff  assumed  command. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

PALVE    THE    CHARCOAL-BURNER 

While  Prosper  is  galloping  after  Doni  Galors, 
and  Dom  Galors  is  galloping  after  Isoult,  let  us 
turn  to  that  unconscious  lady  who  hides  her 
limbs  in  a  pair  ,of  ragged  breeches,  and  her  bloom 
under  the  grime  of  coal-dust.  Her  cloud  of  hair, 
long  now  and  lustrous,  out  of  all  measure  to  her 
pretence,  she  was  accustomed  to  shorten  by 
doubling  it  under  her  cap.  An  odd  fancy  had 
taken  her  which  prevented  a  second  shearing  If 
Prosper  loved  her  she  dared  not  go  unlovely  any 
more.  Her  hair  curtained  her  when  she  bathed 
in  the  brook  and  the  sun.  Beyond  doubt  it  was 
beautiful ;  it  was  Prosper's ;  she  must  keep  it 
untouched.  This  gave  her  an  infinity  of  bother, 
but  at  the  same  time  an  infinity  of  delight.  She 
took  pride  in  it,  observed  its  rate  of  growth  very 
minutely;  another  fancy  was,  that  before  it 
reached  her  knees  she  should  give  it  with  all  her- 
self to  its  master.  It  is  so  easy  to  confuse 
desires  with  gratifications,  and  hopes  with  accom- 
plishments, that  you  will  not  be  surprised  if  I  go 
on  to  say,  that  she  soon  made  the  growth  of  her 
liair  (laid  by  which  to  calculate  her  restoration  to 

256 


FALVE     THK  CHARCOAL-BURNER      257 

his  side.  She  was  to  have  a  rude  awakening,  as 
you  shall  judge. 

The  July  heats  lay  over  the  forest  like  a  pall, 
stilled  all  the  leaves  and  beat  upon  the  parched 
ground.  Isoult,  seduced  by  the  water  and  her 
joy  to  be  alone  with  her  ring,  audacious  too  by 
use,  took  longer  leave.  So  long  leave  she  took 
one  day  that  it  became  a  question  of  dinner.  The 
one  solemn  hour  of  the  twenty-four  was  in 
peril.  Falve  was  sent  to  find  her,  and  took 
his  stick.  But  he  never  used  it ;  for  he  found, 
not  Roy  indeed,  but  Roy's  rags  on  the  brook- 
side,  and  over  the  brook  on  the  high  bank  a 
lady,  veiled  only  in  her  hair,  singing  to  herself. 
He  stood  transported,  Actaeon  in  his  own  de- 
spite, then  softly  withdrew.  Roy  got  back  in 
his  time,  cooked  the  dinner,  and  had  no  drub- 
bing. Then  came  the  meal,  with  an  ominous 
innovation. 

They  sat  in  a  ring  on  the  grass  round  an  iron 
pot.  Each  had  a  fork  with  which  he  fished  for 
himself  Down  came  Falve  smirking,  and  sat 
himself  by  Isoult.     He  had  a  flower  in  his  hand. 

"  I  plucked  this  for  my  mistress,"  says  he, 
"  but  failing  her  I  give  it  to  my  master." 

She  had  to  take  it,  with  a  sick  smile.  She  had 
a  sicker  heart. 

The  horrid  play  went  on.  Falve  grinned  and 
shrugged  like  a  Frenchman.  He  fed  her  with  his 
fork — "  Eat  of  this,  my  minion  ;  "  forced  his  cup 
to  her  lips — "  Drink,  honey,  where  I  have 
drunk."  He  drank  deep  and,  bUnking  like  a 
night-bird,  said  solemnly — 

"We  have   called  you  Jack,    to    our   shame. 


258  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Your  name  shall  properly  be  called  Roy,  for  you 
should  be  a  king." 

The  men  made  merry  over  this  comedy,  find- 
ing appetite  for  it ;  but  to  the  girl  came  back  that 
elfin  look  she  had  almost  lost  since  she  had 
known  Prosper.  She  had  worn  it  the  night  she 
came  plump  on  Galors,  but  never  since.  Now 
again  hers  were  a  hare's  eyes,  wide  and  quaking. 

From  that  hour  her  peace  left  her,  for  Falve 
never  did.  Escape  was  impossible;  the  man 
eyed  her  as  a  cat  a  mouse,  and  seemed  to  play 
upon  her  nerve  as  if  she  had  been  a  fine  instru- 
ment. He  became  astonishingly  subtle,  dealt  in 
images  like  a  modern  poet,  had  the  same  art 
of  meaning  more  than  he  said  to  those  who  had 
the  misfortune  to  understand  him.  He  never 
declared  what  he  knew,  though  she  could  not 
but  guess  it ;  did  not  betray  her  to  the  others ; 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  equivoque,  content  to  wait. 
So  he  kept  her  on  tenterhooks ;  she  felt  a  cheat, 
and  what  is  worse,  a  detected  cheat.  This  filled 
her  deep  with  shame.  It  made  her  more  coy 
and  more  a  prude  than  she  had  ever  need  to  be 
had  she  gone  among  them  kittled  and  coifed. 
At  last  came  the  day  when  that  happened  which 
she  had  darkly  dreaded.  A  load  of  coals  went 
ofi^  to  Market  Basing ;  to  dinner  came  herself 
only,  and  Falve. 

She  trembled,  and  could  neither  eat  nor  drink. 
Falve  made  amends,  ate  for  three  and  drank  for 
a  dozen.  He  grew  sportive  anon.  He  sang 
tavern  songs,  ventured  on  heavy  play,  would 
pinch  her  ear  or  her  cheek,  must  have  her  sit  on 
his  knee.     But  at  this  her  fortitude  gave  way ; 


FALVE   THE    CHARCOAL-BURNER         259 

she  jumped  up  to  shake  herself  free.  There  was 
a  short  tussle.  Her  cap  fell  off,  and  all  the 
dusky  curtain  of  her  hair  about  her  shoulders  ran 
rippling  to  her  middle.  No  concealment  could 
avail  between  them  now.  She  stood  a  maid  con- 
fessed, by  her  looks  confessing,  who  watched  him 
guardedly  with  lips  a-quiver. 

Falve  did  not  hesitate  to  take  her  hand. 
"  Come  and  see,"  he  said,  and  led  her  away. 
Across  the  brook  he  showed  her  a  hut  newly 
made,  covered  with  green  boughs — his  work,  it 
appeared,  under  the  cover  of  a  week  of  sweating 
nights.  He  led  her  in,  she  saw  all  his  simple 
preparations :  the  new-stamped  floor,  the  new- 
joisted  roof,  a  great  bed  in  the  corner.  Then  he 
turned  to  her  and  said — 

"Your  name  is  not  Roy,  but  Royne.  And 
you  shall  be  queen  of  me,  and  of  the  green  wood, 
and  of  this  bed." 

Isoult  began  to  shake  so  violently  that  she 
could  hardly  stand. 

"  How  1  does  not  the  prospect  please  you  ?  " 
said  Falve.     She  could  only  plead  for  time. 

"Time?"  asked  he,  "time  for  what?  There 
is  time  for  all  in  the  forest.  Moreover,  you 
have  had  time." 

"Would  you  have  me  wed  you,  Falve?"  she 
faltered. 

"Why,  I  set  no  store  by  your  church-music, 
myself,"  rejoined  Falve. 

"  But  I  set  great  store  by  Holy  Church.  You 
would  never  dishonour  me,  Falve  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Falve,  "  you  will  have  guessed 
by  now  that   I   am    a   lady's   man.     I   am  wax 


26o  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

in  their  pretty  hands — red  wax  or  white  wax. 
According  as  you  squeeze  me,  my  dear,  you 
make  me  a  Golias  or  a  bishop,  as  you  wish. 
You  would  have  me  a  bishop,  eh  ?  " 

"I  do  not  understand,  Falve." 

"The  husband  of  one  wife,  my  lass,  as  the 
Scripture  saith.     Is  that  your  fancy  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  be  a  wife." 

"Then  a  wife  you  shall  be,  my  honey,  though 
a  friend  or  a  bondmaid  is  equally  good  Scripture, 
to  say  nothing  of  simplicity.  Now  that  being 
settled,  and  a  bargain  a  bargain,  let  us  seal." 

She  escaped  with  his  tarnish  on  her  hand ; 
but  he  respected  her  promise,  and  troubled  her 
no  more  by  contact.  Nevertheless  she  had  to 
pay.  His  dwarfish  propensity  to  wit  led  him  the 
wildest  lengths.  The  rogue  began  to  sigh  and 
gesture  and  slap  his  ribs.  He  affected  the  lover 
preposterously ;  he  was  over  weary  of  his  rough 
life,  he  would  say ;  he  must  marry  and  settle 
down  in  the  hut  by  the  brook. 

"And  then,"  he  ran  on,  "thou,  Roy,  shalt 
Gome  and  live  there,  serving  me  and  my  wife. 
For  I  love  thee,  boy,  and  will  not  leave  thee. 
And  I  warrant  that  she  will  not  be  jealous  when 
I  play  with  thee ;  nor  shall  I  grudge  thy  love  of 
her — nay,  not  if  thou  shouldst  love  her  as  my- 
self. For  thus  Moses  bade  us  in  the  Command- 
ments." And  so  on.  "  By  Saint  Christopher, 
that  long  man  of  God,"  he  swore  at  another 
bout,  "  thou  and  my  wife  shall  sleep  in  one  bed, 
and  I  not  be  dishonoured  !  " 

The  other  men  began  to  prick  up  their  ears  at 
these  speeches,  and  looked  shrewdly  at  their  boy 


FALVE   THE   CHARCOAL-BURNER         261 

more  than  once.  As  for  Isoult,  she  knew  not 
where  to  turn.  She  seemed  to  be  quavering  over 
an  abyss. 

Meantime  the  hour  of  her  wedding,  as  Falve 
had  appointed  it,  drew  near.  In  middle  July  the 
whole  gang  were  to  go  to  Hauterive  with  coal  for 
the  Castle.  Falve's  mother,  I  have  told  you, 
lived  there  in  a  little  huckster's  shop  she  had. 
Falve's  plan  was  to  harbour  Isoult  there  for  the 
night,  and  wed  her  on  the  morrow  as  early  as 
might  be.  But  he  told  the  girl  nothing  of  all 
this. 

They  set  out,  then,  betimes  in  the  morning, 
and  by  travelling  late  and  early  reached  Hauterive 
in  two  days.  And  this  in  spite  of  the  weather, 
which  was  cold  and  stormy.  The  town  stands 
high  on  the  hither  shoulder  of  that  ridge  which 
ends  at  Wanmeeting,  but  by  reason  of  the  dense 
growth  of  timber  in  that  walk  of  the  forest  you 
do  not  get  a  view  of  it  from  below  until  you  are 
actually  under  the  walls.  Isoult,  who  had  no 
reason  to  be  interested  in  any  but  her  own  affairs 
just  then,  and  was,  moreover,  wet  through  and 
shivering,  did  not  notice  the  flag  flying  over  the 
Castle — Partij  per  pale  argent  and  sahle.  It  was 
not  till  the  whole  caravan  stood  within  the  draw- 
bridge that  she  saw  over  the  portcullis  an  escut- 
cheon whereon  were  the  redoubtable  three  white 
wicket-gates,  with  the  legend,  Entra  per  me.  She 
realized  then  that  she  was  being  drawn  into  the 
trap-teeth  of  her  grim  enemy,  and  went  rather 
grey.  There  was  nothing  for  it,  she  must  trust 
to  her  disguise.  It  had  deceived  the  colliers, 
it  might   deceive    Galors.     Ah !    but  there  wa? 


262  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

Maulfry.  It  would  never  deceive  her.  All  the 
comfort  she  could  take  was  that  Galors  was  lord 
of  the  town,  and  she  collier's  knave.  Now 
colUers'  knaves  do  not  see  much  of  their  lords 
paramount,  nor  rulers  of  cities  look  into  the  love- 
affairs  of  colliers  or  seek  for  such  among  them. 
If  Maulfry  were  there,  Heaven  help  her !  But 
she  began  to  think  she  might  cope  with  Galors. 

When  the  asses  were  unloaded  in  the  inn-yard, 
and  the  coal  stacked  under  cover,  Falve  took  his 
prisoner  by  the  hand  and  led  her  by  many  wind- 
ing lanes  to  his  mother's  shop.  This  was  in 
Litany  Row,  a  crazy  dark  entry  over  against  the 
Dominican  convent.  The  streets  and  alleys  were 
empty,  the  rain  coursed  down  all  the  gutters  of 
the  steep  little  town ;  its  music  and  their  own 
plashy  steps  were  all  they  could  hear.  Knocking 
at  a  little  barred  door  in  Litany  Row,  they  were 
admitted  by  a  wrinkled  old  woman  with  wet  eyes. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  fellow,  "  this  boy  is  no 
boy,  but  a  maid  with  whom  I  intend  to  marry  at 
cockcrow.  Let  her  sleep  with  thee  this  night, 
and  in  the  morning  dress  her  in  a  good  gown 
against  I  come  to  fetch  her." 

The  old  woman  looked  her  up  and  down  in  a 
way  that  made  the  girl  blush. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "thou  art  a  proper  boy 
enough,  I  see,  and  I  will  make  thee  a  proper  girl, 
if  God  hath  done  his  part." 

*'  That  he  hath  done,  mother,"  says  Falve  with 
a  grin.     "  See  here,  then." 

With  that  he  pulls  off  Isoult's  green  cap.  All 
her  hair  tumbled  about  her  shoulders  in  a  fan. 

'*  Mother  of  God,"  cried  the  old  woman,  "  this 


FALVE   THE   CHARCOAL-BURNER         263 

is  a  proper  girl  indeed,  if  other  things  are  as 
they  should  be,  to  accord  with  these  tresses." 

"Never  fear  for  that,  mother,"  said  Falve. 
"Trust  me,  she  will  be  a  good  wife  out  and  in. 
For,  let  alone  the  good  looks  of  the  girl,  she  is 
very  meek  and  doeth  all  things  well,  even  to 
speaking  little." 

"  And  what  is  she  named,  this  pretty  miss  ? " 
asked  the  crone. 

"  Tell  her  your  fancy  name,  wife,"  said  Falve, 
giving  her  a  nudge;  "show  her  that  you  have 
a  tongue  in  your  round  head." 

"  I  am  called  Isoult  la  Desirous,  ma'am,"  said 
the  girl. 

"La,  la,  hi!"  cried  the  old  dame,  "say  you 
so  ?  The  name  hath  promise  of  plenty  ;  but  for 
whose  good  I  say  not.  And  who  gave  you  such 
a  name  as  that,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  known  any  other,  ma'am." 

"  Hum,  hum,"  mumbled  the  dame.  "  I've 
heard  more  Christian  names  and  names  less 
Christian,  but  never  one  that  went  better  on  a 
bride." 

"  Mother,  a  word  in  your  ear,"  said  Falve. 

The  couple  drew  apart  and  the  man  whispered — 

"  Keep  her  close ;  let  her  never  out  of  your 
sight,  that  I  may  marry  her  to-morrow ;  for 
since  I  set  eyes  on  her  as  a  maiden  whom  I 
first  took  to  be  a  boy,  I  have  had  no  peace  for 
longing  after  her." 

"  Have  no  fear,  my  son  Falve,"  said  his 
mother,  "she  shall  be  as  safe  with  me  as  the 
stone  in  a  peach.  I'll  get  her  dry  and  her 
natural  shape  to  begin  with,  and  come  morning 


264  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

light,  if  you  have  not  the  comeliest  bride  in  the 
Nor'-West  Walk,  'twill  be  the  Church's  doing  or 
yours,  but  none  o'  mine.  Have  ye  feed  a  priest, 
boy  ? " 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  fellow. 

"  Seek  out  Father  Bonaccord  of  the  new  Grey 
Friars.  'Tis  the  happiest-go-lucky,  ruddiest 
rogue  of  a  priest  that  ever  hand-fasted  a  couple. 
He'll  wed  ye  and  housel  ye  for  a  couple  of  roses. ^ 
The  Black  Friars  'uU  take  three  off  ye  and  tie 
ye  with  a  sour  face  at  that.  Bonaccord's  the 
man,  Brother  Bonaccord  of  the  Grey  Brothers, 
hard  by  Botchergate." 

"  Bonaccord  for  ever ! "  roared  Falve.  He 
blew  a  kiss  to  his  wife  and  went  off  on  his  errand. 

^  Silver  coins  of  those  parts,  worth  about  three  shillings 
a-piece 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

SECRET    THINGS    AT    HAUTERIVE 

The  first  thing  the  old  lady  did  was  to  go  to 
an  oak  chest  which  was  in  the  room,  and  rum- 
mage there.  With  many  grunts  and  wheezes 
(for  she  was  eaten  with  rheumatism)  she  drew 
out  a  bundle  done  up  in  an  old  shawl.  This 
she  opened  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  belonged  to  a  great  lady  once,"  said  she, 
"though  I  don't  look  like  it,  my  dear.  These 
fal-lals  have  been  over  as  dainty  a  body  as  your 
own  in  their  day ;  and  that  was  fifteen  years  ago 
to  a  tick.  She  gave  'em  all  to  me  when  she 
took  to  the  black,  and  now  they  shall  go  to  my 
son's  wife.  Think  of  that,  you  who  come  from 
who  knows  who  or  where.  If  they  fit  you  not 
like  a  glove,  let  me  eat  'em." 

There  were  silks  and  damasks  and  brocades ; 
webbed  tissues  of  the  East,  Coan  gauzes  blue 
and  green,  Damascus  purples,  shot  gold  from 
Samarcand,  crimson  stuffs  dipped  in  Syrian  vats, 
rose-coloured  silk  from  Trebizond,  and  em- 
broidered jackets  which  smelt  of  Cairo  or  Bagdad, 
and  glowed  with  the  hues  of  Byzantium  itself. 
Out  of  these  she  made  choice.  The  girl  shed 
her  rags,  and  stood  up  at  last  in  a  gown  of  thin 

265 


i66  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

red  silk,  which  from  throat  to  ankle  clung  close 
about  her  shape.  The  dark  beauty  went  im- 
perially robed. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  her  dresser ;  "  we'll  look  at 
you  presently  when  you  are  shod  and  coifed  to 
fit." 

She  gave  her  a  pair  of  red  stockings  and 
Moorish  slippers  for  her  feet ;  she  massed  up 
her  black  hair  into  a  tower  upon  her  head,  and 
roped  it  about  with  a  chain  of  sequins  which  had 
served  their  last  chaffer  at  Venice ;  she  girt  a 
belt  of  filigree  gold  and  turquoise  about  her 
waist,  gave  her  a  finishing  pat,  and  stood  out  to 
spy  at  her. 

"Eh,  eh!  there  you  go  for  a  jolly  gentle- 
woman," she  chuckled,  and  kissed  her.  "  Give 
you  a  pair  of  sloe-black  eyes  for  your  violets, 
tip  your  nails  with  henna  red,  and  you'd  be  a 
mate  for  the  Soldan  of  Babylon  in  his  glory. 
As  you  stand  you're  my  bonny  Countess  Bel 
warmed  in  the  blood — as  she  might  have  been 
if  Bartlemy  had  had  no  vigil  that  one  year." 

They  sat  to  table  and  ate  together.  The  old 
dame  grew  very  friendly,  and,  as  usual  with  her 
class,  showed  a  spice  of  malice. 

"There  is  one  here,  let  me  tell  you,"  she  said 
as  she  munched  her  bacon,  "even  the  lord  of 
this  town,  who  w^ould  be  glad  to  know  his  way 
to  Litany  Row  before  morning."  Isoiilt  paled 
and  watched  her  unconscious  host ;  she  knew 
that  much  already.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  went  on, 
the  old  ruminant,  "  he  hath  a  rare  twist  for 
women,  if  they  speak  the  truth  who  know  him. 
There  is  one  he  hath  hunted  high  and  low,  in 


SECRET    THINGS    AT    HAUTERIVE         267 

forest  and  out,  they  say,  and  hath  made  himself 
a  lord  for  her  sake,  whereas  he  was  but  a  stalled 
ox  in  Malbank  cloister.  He  hath  made  himself 
a  lord,  and  killed  his  hundreds  of  honest  men, 
and  now  he  hath  lost  her.     He — he  !  " 

The  good  woman  chuckled  at  her  thoughts 
over  all  this  irony  of  events. 

"  I  might  do  son  Falve  a  sorry  turn,"  she 
pursued,  "if  I  would.  I  should  get  paid  for  it 
in  minted  money,  and  Saint  Mary  knows  how 
little  of  that  has  come  my  way  of  late.  And  I 
dare  say  that  you  would  not  take  the  exchange 
for  a  robbery.  A  lord  for  a  smutty  collier." 
She  looked  slyly  at  Isoult  as  she  spoke.  The 
girl's  eyes  wide  with  fear  made  her  change  her 
tune.  If  the  daughter-elect  were  loyal,  loyalty 
beseemed  the  mother. 

"  What ! "  she  quavered,  "  you  are  all  for  love 
and  the  man  of  your  heart  then?  Well,  well!  I 
like  you  for  it,  child." 

Isoult's  heart  began  to  knock  at  her  ribs. 
"Can  I  trust  her?  Can  I  trust  her?"  she 
thought ;  and  her  heart  beat  back,  "  Trust  her, 
trust  her,  trust  her." 

With  bed-time  came  her  chance.  The  old 
woman,  whose  geniality  nev^er  endangered  her 
shrewdness,  bid  the  girl  undress  and  get  into 
bed  first.  The  meek  beauty  obeyed.  She  was 
undressed,  but  not  in  bed,  when  there  came  a 
rain  of  knocks  at  the  door. 

"  Slip  into  bed,  child,  slip  into  bed,"  cried  the 
other;  "that's  a  man  at  the  door." 

Isoult,  half-dead  with  fright,  once  more  obeyed. 
The  knocking  continued  till  the  door  was  opened. 


268  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Who  are  you,  in  the  name  of  Jesus  ? "  said 
the  woman,  trembHng. 

"Jesus  be  my  witness,  I  come  in  His  name. 
I  am  Brother  Bonaccord,"  said  a  man  without. 

"  Save  you,  father,"  the  woman  repHed,  "  but 
you  cannot  come  in  this  night.  There's  a  naked 
maid  in  the  room." 

Isoult's  phght  was  pitiable.  She  could  do 
absolutely  nothing  but  stay  where  she  was.  She 
dared  not  so  much  as  cry  out. 

"  If  she  is  a  maid,  it  is  very  well,"  said  Brother 
Bonaccord ;  "  but  I  am  quite  sure  she  is  not." 

"  Heyday,  what  is  this  ?  "  cried  Falve's  mother, 
highly  scandalized. 

"  Listen  to-  me,  Dame  Ursula,"  the  friar  went 
on  with  a  wagging  finger.  "  Your  son  came  with 
gossip  of  a  marriage  he  was  to  make  Vv'ith  a  certain 
Isoult " 

"'Tis  so,  'tis  so,  indeed,  father.  Isoult  la 
Desirous  is  her  name — a  most  sweet  maid." 

"  No  maiden  at  all,  good  woman,  but  a  wife  of 
my  own  making." 

"  Ah,  joys  of  Mary,  what  is  this  ?  " 

"Ask  her,  mistress,  ask  her." 

"  I  shall  ask  her,  never  you  fear.  Stay  you 
there,  father,  for  your  life." 

"  Trust  me,  ma'am." 

Dame  Ursula  went  straight  up  to  the  bed  and 
whipped  off  the  blankets.  There  cowered  the 
girl. 

"  Tell  me  the  sober  truth  by  all  the  pains  of 
Dies  Irce'"'  whispered  her  hostess.  "Are  you  a 
maiden  or  none  ? " 

It  was  a  shrewd  torment  that,  double-forked. 


SECRET   THINGS    AT   HAUTERIVE         269 

To  deny  was  infamy,  to  affirm  ruin.  However, 
there  was  no  escape  from  it :  Isoult  had  never 
been  a  learned  Har. 

"  I  am  a  maid,  ma'am,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

"Cover  yourself  warm,  my  lamb,  I'll  twist  him," 
said  the  delighted  mother.  She  went  quickly  to 
the  door. 

"  May  our  lord  the  holy  Pope  of  Rome  find 
you  mercy,  father,"  she  vowed,  "  but  you'll  find 
none  here.  The  girl  has  testified  against  you. 
Now  will  you  marry  'em  ? " 

"  That  I  will  not,  by  our  Lord,"  replied  the 
friar.  "  There's  infamy  abroad,  and  I'll  leave  it, 
for  it's  none  of  my  making.  I  wish  you  good- 
night, mistress.  Bid  your  son  to  the  Black 
Brothers.  Saint  Dominic  may  deal  with  him. 
Saint  Francis  was  a  clean  man,  and  so  must  we 
be  clean." 

"  Then  get  ye  clean  tongues  lest  ye  lick  others 
foul,  ye  brown  viper,"  screamed  Mrs,  Ursula,  as 
he  splashed  down  the  kennel. 

Isoult  was  desperate ;  but  luck  pointed  her  one 
road  yet.  You  will  remember  the  trinkets  round 
her  neck :  Prosjier's  ring  was  one,  the  other  was 
that  which  old  Maid  had  felt  for  and  found  safe 
in  her  bosom  on  her  wedding  night.  When, 
therefore,  Mrs.  Ursula  came  bridling  into  the 
light  full  of  her  recent  victory,  she  saw  the  girl 
before  her  trembling,  and  holding  out  a  gold 
chain  at  a  stretch. 

"  Lord's  name,  child,  you'll  catch  your  death," 
cried  she.  "  Slip  on  your  night-gown  and  into 
the  bed." 

"  Trust  her  now,  trust  her  now,"  went  Isoult's 


270  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

wild  heart.     "Not  yet,  mother,"  said  she,  "you 
must  hear  me  now." 

Ursula  dropped  into  a  chair.  Isoult  knelt 
before  her  and  put  the  ring  in  her  old  hand. 

"  Mother,  look  at  this  ring,"  she  began,  out  of 
breath  already,  "and  look  at  me,  and  then  let  me 
go.  For  with  this  ring  I  was  wed  a  year  ago  to 
a  certain  lord  whom  I  love  dearly,  and  to  whom 
I  have  never  yet  come  as  a  wife.  So  what  I  told 
you  was  true,  and  what  the  Grey  Friar  told  you 
was  true  also,  when  he  said  that  I  was  a  wife  of 
his  wedding.  He  wed  me  to  my  lord  sure  and 
fast  to  save  me  from  a  hanging ;  but  not  for  love 
of  me  was  I  taken  by  my  husband,  and  not  for 
desire  of  his  to  mate  his  soul  to  mine.  But  for  love 
of  the  love  I  bore  him  I  dared  not  let  him  come, 
even  when  he  would  have  come.  We  have  been 
a  year  wedded,  and  many  days  and  nights  we  have 
wandered  the  forest  and  dwelt  together  here  and 
there,  until  now  by  some  fate  we  are  put  apart. 
But  I  know  we  shall  come  together  again,  and  he 
whom  I  love  so  bitterly  shall  set  the  ring  in  its 
place  again  where  he  first  put  it,  and  himself  lie 
where  now  it  lies.  And  so  the  wound  and  the 
pain  I  have  shall  be  at  last  assuaged,  and  Love, 
who  had  struck  me  so  deep,  shall  crown  me." 

So  said  Isoult,  kneeling  and  crying.  Whatever 
else  she  may  have  touched  in  her  who  listened, 
she  touched  her  curiosity.  The  old  woman 
dropped  the  ring  to  look  at  the  girl.  True 
enough,  below  her  left  breast  there  was  a  small 
red  wound,  and  upon  it  a  drop  of  fresh  blood. 

Mrs.  Ursula  took  the  wet  face  between  her  two 
chapped  hands  and  laughed  at  it,  not  unkindly. 


SECRET   THINGS   AT    HAUTERIVE         271 

"  My  bonny  lass,"  said  she,  "if  this  be  all  thou 
hast  to  tell  me  it  will  not  stay  my  son  Falve.  Here 
in  this  forest  we  think  little  of  the  giving  of  rings, 
but  much  of  what  should  follow  it.  But  thy 
wedding  stopped  at  the  ringing,  from  what  I  can 
learn.  That  is  no  wedding  at  all.  Doubt  not 
this  knight  of  thine  will  never  return  ;  they  never 
do  return,  my  lassie.  Neither  doubt  but  that 
Falve  will  wed  thee  faster  than  any  ring  can  do. 
And  as  for  thy  scratch  and  crying  heart,  my 
child,  trust  Falve  again  to  stanch  the  one  and 
still  the  other.  For  that  is  a  man's  way.  And 
now  get  into  bed,  child ;  it  grows  late." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey.  Her 
game  had  been  played  and  had  failed.  She  got 
into  bed  and  Ursula  followed. 

Then  as  she  lay  there  quaking,  crying  quietly 
to  herself,  her  heart's  message  went  on  that  bid 
her  trust.  Trust  I  What  could  she  trust  ?  The 
thought  shaped  itself  and  grew  clearer  ev^ery 
minute;  the  answer  pealed  in  her  brain.  The 
token  !  she  recalled  her  mother's  words,  the  only 
words  she  had  spoken  on  her  marriage  night. 
"  It  shall  not  fail  thee  to  whomsoever  thou  shalt 
show  it." 

"  Help,  Saint  Isidore  1 "  she  breathed,  and  sat 
up  in  the  bed. 

This  made  the  old  woman  very  cross. 

"Drat  the  girl,"  she  muttered,  "why  don't  she 
sleep  while  she  can  f  " 

Isoult  leaned  over  her  and  put  the  token  in  her 
hand. 

"Look  also  at  this  token,  mother,  before  we 
sleep,"  she  said. 


2^2  THE   FOREST    LOVERS 

Mrs.  Ursula,  grumbling  and  only  half  awake, 
took  the  thing  in  one  hand  and  hoisted  herself 
with  the  other.  She  sat  up,  peered  at  it  in  the 
light  of  the  cresset,  dropped  it  to  rub  her  eyes, 
fumbled  for  it  again,  and  peered  again ;  she 
whispered  prayers  to  herself  and  adjurations, 
called  on  Christ  and  Christ's  mother,  vehem- 
ently crossed  herself  many  times,  scrambled  out 
of  bed,  and  plumped  down  beside  it  on  her  two 
knees. 

"Mild  Mary,"  she  quavered,  "mild  Mary, 
that  is  enough!  That  I  should  hve  to  see 
this  day.  Oh,  saints  in  glory !  Let  us  look  at 
it  again." 

Isoult  drooped  over  the  edge  of  the  bed ; 
Ursula  looked  and  was  astounded,  she  wondered 
and  prayed,  she  laughed  and  cried.  Isoult  grew 
frightened. 

"Wed  her!"  cried  the  old  dame  in  ecstasy. 
"Wed  the  Queen  of  Sheba  next!"  Then  she 
grew  mighty  serious.  She  got  up  and  dropped 
a  curtesy. 

"  It  is  enough,  Princess.  He  dare  not  look  at 
you  again.  At  dawn  you  shall  leave  this  place. 
Now  sleep  easy,  for  if  I  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head 
I  might  never  hope  for  heaven's  gate." 
She  made  the  girl  sleep  alone. 
"This  is  my  proper  station  before  you,  madam," 
said  she,  and  lay  down  on  the  floor  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

r't  was  no  dream.  In  the  morning  she  was  up 
before  the  light.  Isoult  found  a  bath  prepared, 
and  in  her  gaoler  of  over-night  a  dresser  who 
was  as  brisk  as  a  bee  and  as  humble  as  a  spaniel. 


SECRET  THINGS    AT   HAUTERIVE         273 

"  Old  servants  are  the  best,"  said  the  crone  in 
her  defence  ;  "  they're  not  so  shppery,  but  they 
know  how  things  should  go  on  and  off.  Ah, 
and  give  me  a  young  mistress  and  a  beauty,"  she 
went  on  to  sigh,  "  such  as  God  Almighty  hath 
sent  me  this  night." 

Either  Saint  Isidore  had  entered  the  token,  or 
the  token  had  been  swallowed  by  Saint  Isidore. 

When  the  girl  was  dressed  in  her  red  silk  gown 
of  the  night  before,  with  a  hood  of  the  same  for 
her  head,  her  red  stockings  and  her  red  shoes, 
she  was  set  at  table,  and  waited  upon  hand  and 
foot.  No  questions  were  asked,  but  very  much 
was  taken  for  granted.  Ursula  had  her  finger 
to  her  lip  every  sentence;  she  wallowed  in 
mystery. 

"  You  are  not  safe  here,  Princess,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  but  I  will  put  you  where  only  safety  is 
for  the  moment — in  Mid-Morgraunt.  Affairs, 
as  you  know,  are  not  well  where  they  should  be ; 
but  as  soon  as  you  are  bestowed,  I  will  go  forth 
with  that  which  will  make  them  as  bright  as  day. 
I  will  see  one  I  never  thought  to  face  again ;  I 
shall  win  honour  which  God  knows  I  am  late  a- 
winning.     Leave  everything  to  me." 

Isoult  asked  nothing  better,  for  the  very  suffi- 
cient reason  that  she  knew  nothing.  Her  earth- 
born  habit  of  taking  all  things  as  they  came  in 
order  stood  her  in  good  part;  she  had  no  tempta- 
tion to  ask  what  all  this  meant.  But  she  did  not 
forget  to  thank  the  great  Saint  Isidore  latent  in 
the  crystal. 

Everything  being  ready,  the  old  woman  threw 
a  long  brown  cloak  over  her  charge  before  they 

T 


274  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

ventured  out  into  the  still  twilight  streets.  The 
wet  was  steaming  off  the  ground,  but  the  day 
promised  fair.  Hauterive  was  nearly  empty : 
they  were  not  challenged  at  the  gate,  met  nobody 
terrific.  Once  outside  the  walls  they  descended 
a  sharp  incline,  struck  almost  immediately  a  forest 
path,  and  in  half-an-hour  from  that  were  deep  in 
the  dewy  woods.  Old  Ursula  held  on  briskly  for 
a  mile  or  so  in  and  out  of  fern  and  brake.  Then 
she  stopped,  out  of  breath,  but  beaming  benevo- 
lence and  humihty. 

"  We  are  safe  enough  now,  madam,"  she  said, 
and  went  on  to  explain,  "Hold  you  by  that  path, 
Princess,  until  beech  and  holly  end  and  oaks  begin. 
Follow  the  dip  of  the  land,  you  will  come  to 
Thornyhold  Brush  ;  with  those  you  find  there  you 
may  stay  until  you  know  who  shall  send  for  you. 
That  may  be  likely  a  week  or  more,  for  I  am  not 
so  young  as  I  would  be,  and  the  roads  are  thick 
with  Galordians.  Now  kiss  me  quickly  if  you 
will  stoop  so  low  :  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ask 
it  of  you." 

Isoult  thanked  her  with  sparkling  eyes  and 
warm  red  lips ;  then  she  stood  alone  in  the  wood 
watching  her  old  friend  go.  Afterwards  she  her- 
self took  to  the  path,  wondering,  but  light-hearted 
and  minded  to  run. 

The  spruce  Falve,  curled  and  anointed  for  the 
bridal,  found  no  wife,  but  his  mother,  who  called 
him  a  fool,  a  knave,  a  notorious  evil-liver  and 
contemner  of  holy  persons.  This  was  hard  to 
bear,  for  part  of  it  at  least  he  knew  to  be  quite 
true.    What  was  harder  was,  that  hitherto  he  had 


SECRET    THINGS    AT    HAUTERIVE        275 

always  believed  his  mother  of  his  party.  But 
there  is  no  pietist  like  your  reformed  rake;  so 
Falve  left  the  huckster's  shop  vowing  vengeance. 
The  day  was  July  18,  and  all  the  town  astir,  for 
Galors  de  Born  and  his  riders  were  just  in  from  a 
raid. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE   ROAD    TO    GOLTRES 

On  July  14  Prosper  left  Wan  meeting  at  a 
gallop,  in  the  driving  rain.  There  had  been 
thunder  and  a  change  in  the  weather ;  the  roads 
were  heavy  and  the  brooks  brimming;  but  by 
noon  he  was  in  the  plain,  and  by  night  at  One  Ash, 
a  lonely  dead  tree  as  often  gallows  as  not.  There 
he  slept  in  his  cloak.  Next  morning  he  was 
early  in  the  saddle,  and  had  reached  the  fringe  of 
Goitres  Heath  by  breakfast  time — if  the  hour 
without  the  thing  can  be  called  by  such  a  com- 
fortable name. 

He  knew  there  was  a  cross-road  somewhere 
near  by  from  Goitres  to  Hauterive  Town.  He 
should  go  warily,  for  if  the  first  were  invested 
there  must  needs  be  communications  with  the 
base,  which  was  Hauterive.  Sure  enough,  he 
had  not  seen  the  finger-post  before  he  saw  the 
pikes.  There  were  three  mounted  men  there, 
one  of  whom  had  his  face  to  the  north  and  was 
shading  his  eyes  to  spy  over  the  heath.  In  a 
dozen  more  strides  (for  he  was  at  no  pains  to 
skulk  from  three  troopers)  a  man  saw  him,  gave 
a  shout  and  spurred  over  the  heather.     Prosper 

276 


THE    ROAD   TO   GOLTRES  277 

pulled  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  resolved  to  bring 
things  to  a  quick  conclusion.  Spear  in  rest  he 
came  down  on  his  fellow  like  a  gale  of  wdnd. 

The  man  swerved  at  the  onset ;  Prosper 
rocketed  into  him  ;  horse  and  man  went  over  in 
a  heap.  "  Bungler,"  cried  Prosper,  and  went  on. 
The  other  two  faced  him  together  standing. 
Prosper  drove  in  between  them,  and  had  one  of 
them  off  at  the  cost  of  a  snapt  spear.  He  turned 
on  the  other  with  his  sword  whirling  round  his 
head. 

"  Quarter,  Messire  !  "  cried  the  trooper,  "  here 
comes  one  of  my  betters  for  you." 

In  effect,  a  knight  on  a  chestnut  horse  was 
coming  from  Goitres,  a  most  resplendent  knight 
in  golden  armour,  with  yellow  trappings  slashed 
and  fluttering  about  him. 

"The  Gold  Knight!"  said  Prosper,  drawing  a 
sharpish  breath ;  "  this  is  better  than  I  looked  for. 
My  man,"  he  went  on,  turning,  "  I  have  mea- 
sured you  with  my  eye.  I  think  the  sign-post 
will  bear  you." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Messire,"  said  the  man 
ruefully. 

"You  shall  put  it  to  the  proof  so  sure  as 
I  live,"  continued  Prosper,  "  if  you  stir  from 
where  you  stand.  I  have  to  speak  with  your 
master." 

"Oh,  make  yourself  quite  easy,  Messire,  and 
trust  me,"  said  the  man ;  "  I  see  with  whom  I 
have  to  deal." 

"Then  deal  not  with  him,  my  friend,"  said 
Prosper,  and  went  to  meet  the  Golden  Knight. 

The  Golden  Knight  set  spear  in  rest  and  came 


278  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

cantering  down  the  track.  Prosper  let  him  come. 
When  he  was  within  hail,  "  Put  up  your  spear, 
dame,"  said  he,  "and  hsten." 

The  Golden  Knight  pulled  up  short,  but  held 
his  spear  couched  against  the  worst.  Prosper 
spoke  again  quite  cheerfully. 

"  You  and  I  have  met,  Dame  Maulfry." 

"  You  are  speaking  foolishness  and  wasting  my 
time,  Messire.  I  neither  know  you  nor  your 
dame." 

"  You  may  have  known  my  shield  in  more 
gaudy  trim.  Did  I  not  turn  grave-digger  for  you 
some  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Oh,  oh !  you  are  Prosper  le  Gai  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  name.  Madam  Maulfry.  You 
know  me  at  last." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you.  Take  care.  You  are  in 
no  friendly  country." 

"  I  am  a  very  friendly  soul,  but  I  will  take 
care.  You,  I  think,  have  many  friends  in  these 
parts — one  in  special,  a  holy  person,  a  man  of 
religion.     Is  it  so  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  man  of  many  parts,  Prosper.  He 
hath  an  arm." 

"  He  hath  a  gullet,  I  know,"  said  Prosper 
cheerfully.  "  It  is  of  him  I  would  speak,  dame, 
at  thio  moment.  I  shall  meet  him  before  long,  I 
hope,  and  should  like  to  be  advised  by  an  old 
acquaintance.  Will  you  tell  me  why  he  chose 
out  the  arms  of  the  man  you  and  I  put  into  the 
ground  ? " 

*'  Why  would  you  know  that,  Prosper  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  an  odd  choice.  There  is  a 
otory  about  them.     I  am  curious." 


THE    ROAD   TO    GOLTRES  279 

"  What  is  your  story,  Prosper?  1  will  tell  you 
this,  that  I  tried  to  dissuade  him." 

"Ah!" 

"  Well,  sir,  your  story  ?  " 

"  You  told  me  they  were  the  arms  of  De  Genlis. 
Surely  you  were  mistaken  in  that  ?  " 

"I  will  be  frank  with  you,  Prosper.  I  was 
mistaken.  They  are  the  arms  of  Salomon  de 
Montguichet." 

"Pardon  me,  dame,"  said  Prosper,  "they  are 
the  arms  of  Salomon  de  Born." 

He  never  dealt  cleaner  blow  with  a  spear.  The 
Golden  Knight  stood  up  rocking  in  his  stirrups. 
Then  he  dropped  his  weapon  and  began  to  wail 
like  a  woman. 

•*Oh  no,  no,  no!  Oh,  Prosper,  be  merciful! 
Oh,  God,  kill  me,  kill  me,  kill  me !  Tell  me  you 
have  lied,  Prosper,  or  I  must  die." 

"I  have  not  lied,  madam.  You  have  lied," 
said  Prosper,  watching  with  a  bleak  smile. 

On  a  sudden  the  Golden  Knight  spurred  his 
horse  violently.  The  beast  lunged  forward  and 
shot  off  at  a  mad  gallop  with  his  flanks  streaming 
blood.     Prosper  watched  him  go. 

"  Follow !  follow  !  "  cried  the  Golden  Knight  to 
the  man  by  the  sign-post. 

"  I  cannot,  my  lord,"  the  man  shouted  as  his 
master  flew,  "  I  am  a  man  of  my  word." 

"  Be  off  with  you,  you  rascal,"  cheered  Prosper; 
**  I  have  said  my  say." 

The  man  did  not  hesitate.  Prosper  watched 
the  flying  pair,  a  quiet  smile  hovering  about  his 
mouth.  "  My  shot  told,  it  seems,"  he  said  to 
himself.     "  If  Salomon  de  Born  were  not  what  I 


28o  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

believe  him  to  have  been,  what  is  the  grief  of 
Madam  Maulfry  ?  Well,  we  will  see  next  what 
Galors  de  Born  has  to  say  to  it." 

He  turned  his  face  towards  the  north  and  rode 
on.  If  he  had  followed  the  two — out  of  sight 
by  now — he  would  have  got  nearer  his  heart's 
desire ;  but  he  could  not  do  that.  He  had 
formed  a  judgment  calmly.  If  he  wanted  Isoult 
he  must  find  Galors.  Galors  had  Hauterive 
but  had  not  Goitres.  Therefore  Galors  was  at 
Goitres.  Prosper  always  accredited  his  enemies 
with  his  own  quality.  So  he  rode  away  from 
Isoult  as  proud  as  a  pope. 

We  will  follow  the  Golden  Knight  while  our 
breath  endures.  We  can  track  him  to  Hauterive. 
He  never  stayed  rein  till  he  reached  it,  and  there 
at  the  gates  dropped  his  chestnut  dead  of  a  broken 
heart.  In  the  hall  of  the  citadel  it  was  no  Golden 
Knight  but  a  grey-faced  old  woman  who  knelt 
before  Galors  in  his  chair.  Her  voice  was  dry  as 
bare  branches. 

"  If  ever  you  owe  me  thanks  for  what  I  have 
done  and  will  yet  do  for  you,  Galors,  my  lover, 
you  shall  pay  them  now.  Prosper  is  at  Goitres. 
He  and  Spiridion  will  be  there  alone.  I  give  you 
back  Spiridion.  Give  me  the  life  of  Prosper, 
give  me  his  head  and  his  tongue,  give  me  his 
heart,  and  I  will  be  your  slave  who  was  once  your 
world.  Will  you  do  it,  Galors?  Will  you  do  it 
this  night  ?  " 

"  By  God  I  will,"  said  Galors. 

"  There  is  one  other  thing  " — the  woman  was 
gasping  for  breath — "one  little  thing.  Give  me 
back  the  arms  you  bear.     You  must  never  wear 


THE    ROAD   TO   GOLTRES  281 

them  again.  I  always  hated  them ;  no  good  can 
ensue  them.  Give  them  to  me,  Galors,  and  wear 
them  no  more." 

"  By  God  again,"  said  Galors,  "  that  is  im- 
possible !  I  will  never  do  it.  What !  when  the 
whole  forest  rings  with  Entra  per  me,  and  wicket- 
gates  dazzle  every  eye  on  this  side  Wan  ?  My 
friend,  where  are  your  wits?  That  droll  of  a 
Montguichet  did  me  a  turn  there  before  you  had 
him,  mistress." 

"  Ah,  Galors,"  was  all  she  could  say,  "  he  has 
found  me  again.  I  am  sick  of  the  work,  Galors ; 
let  me  go  home." 

"  Speed  me  first,  my  delight,"  cried  Galors, 
jumping  up.  He  shouted  through  the  door, 
"Ho,  there!  My  horse  and  arms!  Turn  the 
guard  out!     In  three  minutes  we  are  off." 

The  woman  crept  away.  She  had  worked  her 
hardest  for  him,  but  he  wanted  nothing  of  her. 

"  Dirty  weather,  by  the  Rood,"  said  Galors, 
looking  out  at  the  rain.  "  Dirty  weather  and  a 
smell  of  worse.  Hearken  to  the  wind  in  the 
turrets.  Gentlemen,  we  are  for  Goitres.  Spare 
no  horseflesh.  Forward ! "  and  he  was  gone 
through  the  dripping  streets  at  the  falling  in  of  a 
wild  day.  It  was  the  day  Falve  had  brought  in 
his  bride-expectant  to  Litany  Row. 

Half-an-hour  later  Maulfry  rode  out  of  the  east 
gate  alone,  and  never  held  or  looked  back  till  she 
was  safe  in  Tortsentier. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

GUESS-WORK    AT    GOLTRES 

A  SCUD  of  wind  and  rain  hampered  Prosper  on 
his  ride  over  Goitres  Heath.  The  steady  increase 
of  both  in  volume  and  force  kept  him  at  work  all 
day  ;  but  towards  dusk  the  wind  dropped  a  little, 
the  clouds  split, and  drifted  in  black  shreds  over  a 
clear  sky  full  of  the  yellow  evening  light.  Just 
at  the  twilight  he  came  to  a  shallow  mere  edged 
with  reeds,  with  wild  fowl  swimming  upon  it,  and 
others  flying  swiftly  over  on  their  way  to  the  nest. 
At  the  far  end  of  the  lake,  but  yet  in  the  water, 
was  a  dim  castle  settling  down  into  the  murk.  A 
gaunt  shell  it  was,  rather  than  a  habitable  place  ; 
its  windows  were  sightless  black ;  only  in  the 
towers  you  could  see  through  them  the  pale  sky 
behind.  The  wind  ruffled  the  mere,  little  cold 
waves  lapped  in  the  reeds ;  there  was  no  other 
house  in  sight  whichever  way  you  turned.  In 
all  the  dun  waste  of  raw  and  cold  it  was  Goitres 
or  nothing  for  a  night's  lodging. 

"  Galors  has  been  before  me  again,"  thought 
Prosper.  "The  place  is  a  skeleton,  the  husk  of  a 
house.  Well,  there  must  be  a  corner  left  which 
will  keep  the  rain  out.  We  shall  have  more 
before  day,  if  I  am  anything  of  a  prophet." 

282 


GUESS-WORK    AT    GOLTRES  283 

There  was  a  huge  bank  of  cloud  to  windward  ; 
the  wind  came  uneasily,  in  puffs,  with  a  smell  of 
rain.  Prosper's  horse  shivered  and  shook  himself 
from  head  to  heels. 

"  As  I  live,"  cried  Prosper  suddenly,  "  there  is 
a  light  in  the  house."  In  a  high  window  there 
was  certainly  a  flickering  light.  "  Where  there's 
a  light  there's  a  man  or  a  woman.  Where 
there's  one  there  is  room  for  two.  I  am  for 
Goitres  if  I  can  win  a  passage." 

Riding  up  the  shore  of  the  lake  he  found  an 
old  punt. 

"  Saracen,"  said  he  to  his  horse,  "  I  shall  take 
to  the  water.  Thou  shalt  go  thy  will  this  night, 
and  may  heaven  send  thee  the  luck  of  thy 
master."  So  saying  he  unbridled  him,  took  off 
his  saddle  and  let  him  go,  himself  got  into  the 
punt  and  pushed  out  over  the  mere. 

The  great  hulk  of  Goitres  rose  threatening 
above  him,  fretted  by  little  waves,  staring  down 
from  a  hundred  empty  eyes.  He  made  out  a 
water-gate  and  drove  his  punt  towards  it.  It  was 
open.  He  pushed  in,  found  a  rotting  stair,  above 
it  a  door  which  was  broken  away  and  hanging 
by  one  hinge. 

"  The  welcome,  withal  free,  is  cold,"  quoth 
Prosper,  "  but  we  cannot  stand  on  ceremony. 
It  might  be  well  to  make  sure  of  my  punt."  He 
manoeuvred  it  under  the  stair  with  some  trouble, 
lashed  it  fore  and  aft,  and  entered  Goitres  by  the 
slippery  ascent,  addressing  himself  as  he  went  to 
God  and  Saint  Mary  the  Virgin. 

The  wooden  stair  led  him  into  a  flagged 
passage  which  smelt  strongly  of  fungus.    He  went 


284  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

down  this  as  far  as  it  would  go,  found  a  flight  of 
stone  steps  with  a  swing  door  a-top,  pushed  up 
here,  and  burst  into  a  vast  hall.  It  was  waste 
and  empty,  echoing  like  a  vault,  crying  desolation 
with  all  its  tongues.  There  seemed  to  have  been 
wild  work  ;  benches,  tables,  tressles,  chairs,  torn 
up,  dismembered  and  scattered  abroad.  There 
were  the  ashes  of  a  fire  in  the  midst,  some  broken 
weapons  and  head-pieces,  and  many  dark  patches 
which  looked  uncommonly  like  blood.  Prosper 
made  what  haste  he  could  out  of  this  haunted 
place ;  the  rats  scuttled  and  squeaked  as  he 
traversed  it  from  end  to  end. 

Beyond  its  great  folding  doors  he  found  another 
corridor  hung  with  the  ribbons  of  arras  ;  in  the 
midst  of  it  a  broad  stone  staircase.  Up  he  went 
three  steps  at  a  time,  and  stood  in  the  counter- 
part of  the  lower  passage — a  corridor  equally 
flagged,  equally  gloomy,  and  smelling  equally  of 
damp  and  death.  There  were,  so  far  as  he  could 
see,  open  doors  on  either  side  which  stretched 
for  what  seemed  an  interminable  distance.  But 
at  the  far  end  was  the  light  he  was  after  ;  he 
cared  little  how  many  empty  chambers  there 
might  be  so  that  there  was  one  tenanted.  He 
started  oflf  accordingly  in  pursuit  of  the  light. 
The  passage  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  house ; 
the  empty  doors  as  he  passed  them  gave  on  to 
bare  walls  and  broken  windows.  Over  many  of 
them  hung  thick  curtains  of  cobwebs  and  dust; 
white  fungus  cropped  in  the  cracks ;  the  rats 
seemed  everywhere.  Now  and  then  he  caught 
sight  of  a  shredded  arras  on  the  walls  ;  in  one 
room  a  disordered  bed;   on  the  floor  of  another 


GUESS-WORK  AT   GOLTRES  285 

a  woman's  glove.  Never  a  sight  of  life  but  rats, 
and  never  a  sound  but  his  own  steps,  the  shriek- 
ing of  the  wind,  the  rattle  of  crazy  windows. 

The  door  of  the  lighted  chamber  was  set 
open.  Prosper  stood  on  the  threshold  and 
looked  in. 

It  was  a  narrow  dusty  place  heaped  with  books 
on  tables,  chairs,  and  floor.  The  lamp  which 
had  beaconed  him  from  over  the  water  was  of 
brass,  and  hung  from  the  ceiling  by  a  chain.  At 
the  window  end  sat  a  young  man  with  long 
yellow  hair,  which  was  streaked  over  his  bowed 
back  ;  he  was  reading  in  a  Hebrew  book.  The 
book  was  on  a  reading-stand,  and  the  young  man 
kept  his  place  in  it  with  his  thin  finger.  He 
seemed  short-sighted  to  judge  by  the  space 
betwixt  his  nose  and  his  book.  By  his  side  on  a 
little  lacquered  table  was  a  deepish  bowl  of  dull 
red  porphyry  filled  with  water.  Every  now  and 
again  the  young  man,  having  secured  his  place 
firmly  with  his  finger,  would  gaze  into  the  bowl 
through  a  little  crystal  mace  which  he  kept  in  his 
other  hand.  Then  he  would  fetch  a  deep  sigh 
and  return  to  his  book. 

Beyond  the  man,  his  bowl,  and  his  books. 
Prosper  could  see  little  else  in  the  room.  There 
was,  it  is  true,  a  shelf  full  of  bottles,  and  another 
full  of  images ;  but  that  was  all. 

Prosper  stepped  lightly  into  the  room  and  laid 
a  hand  upon  the  reader's  shoulder.  The  young 
man  did  not  start ;  he  carefully  recorded  his 
place  before  he  lifted  a  thin  face  from  his  work  to 
his  visitor.  You  were  conscious  of  an  extrava- 
gantly peaked  nose,  like  the  beak  of  some  water- 


286  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

fowl,  of  the  wandering  glance  of  two  pale  eyes, 
and  of  little  else  except  a  mild  annoyance. 

"What  is  your  pleasure,  fair  sir?  "  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  Sir,"  began  Prosper,  "  I  fear  I  have  intruded 
upon  your  labours." 

"  You  have,"  said  the  young  man. 

It  was  an  uncompromising  beginning.  The 
young  man  beamed  upon  him,  waiting. 

"  Nevertheless,  sir,"  Prosper  went  on,  "  I  am 
driven  to  force  myself  upon  your  hospitahty  for  the 
night.  Your  house  is  large  and  apparently  roomy. 
It  is  dark  and  wild  weather,  with  a  prospect  of 
tempest.     I  must  sleep  here  or  on  the  moors." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  other,  "  you  shall  be  welcome 
to  my  poor  house,  and  that  notwithstanding  the 
last  guests  I  harboured  murdered  everybody  in  it 
but  myself  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  inter- 
cession of  a  very  charming  lady,  who  has  but  now 
left  me,  I  had  been  dead  ere  this  and  unable  to 
play  the  host  either  to  her  or  you.  This  I  say 
not  as  casting  any  imputation  upon  you,  of  whom 
I  am  willing  to  believe  as  much  as,  nay,  more 
than,  our  limited  acquaintance  may  warrant. 
Regard  it  rather  as  my  excuse  for  affording  you 
little  more  than  a  roof" 

"  By  my  faith,"  said  Prosper,  "  I  had  believed 
the  castle  to  be  deserted  or  sacked.  But  I  am 
sorry  enough  to  hear  that  my  foreboding  was  so 
near  the  truth." 

"  It  was  a  certain  lord  calling  himself  Galors 
de  Born,  he  and  his  company,  who  did  these 
harms  upon  my  house,"  the  young  man  explained. 
"Me  too  he  will  assuredly  murder  before  many 


GUESS-WORK    AT   GOLTRES  287 

days.     Unless  indeed  the  lady  of  whom  I  spoke 
just  now  should  return." 

"  I  think  I  may  say  that  she  will  not  return, 
and  that  it  will  be  better  for  you  if  she  do  not. 
Galors,  too,  has  other  fish  to  fry.  But  if  he 
should  happen  to  come,  I  pray  God  that  I  may 
be  by  with  a  company  to  iight  at  your  back." 
So  Prosper. 

"  If  God  hear  your  prayer,  which  I  should 
have  thought  more  than  dubious,"  returned  his 
host,  "  I  only  hope  He  may  see  fit  to  help  you 
to  a  company  as  well,  for  I  have  none.  And  as 
to  fighting  at  my  back,  I  promise  you  I  am  a 
most  indifferent  leader,  being,  as  you  see,  some- 
what immersed  in  other  affairs." 

Prosper  had  really  very  little  to  say  in  answer 
to  this.  By  way  of  changing  the  talk,  he  asked 
if  the  castle  were  not  Goitres. 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir,"  replied  the  other, 
"  it  is  Goitres ;  and  I  am  Spiridion,  the  lord  of 
Goitres,  of  a  most  ancient  stock — yet  much  at 
your  service." 

Prosper  bowed  to  his  host,  who  at  once  re- 
sumed his  prying  and  gazing.  This  did  not 
suit  the  other's  temper  at  all,  for  he  was  above 
all  things  a  sociable  soul.  So  after  a  minute  he 
cut  in  again  on  another  tack. 

"  You  are  a  great  student,  fair  sir,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Then  may  I  know  what  it  is  you  search  out 
so  diligently,  first  in  the  book,  and  then  in  your 
bowl  of  water  ? " 

"Most  certainly  you  may,"  replied  his  host. 
"  I  seek  to  find  out  what  God  may  be." 


288  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Prosper  grew  grave.  "  I  had  thought  you  a 
student  of  fishes,"  said  he,  "  but  I  find  you  dive 
deeper.  Yet  indeed,  sir,  for  my  part  I  think  we 
had  best  be  content  to  love  and  serve  God  as 
best  we  may,  discerning  Him  chiefly  in  the  voice 
of  honour  and  in  His  fair  works.  Moreover, 
Holy  Church  biddeth  us  nourish  a  lively  faith. 
Therefore,  as  I  think,  the  harder  our  understand- 
ing of  God  is  to  come  at,  the  more  abundant 
our  merit  who   nevertheless  believe." 

"That  may  be  so,"  said  the  other.  "But  I 
can  hardly  be  expected  to  love  that  which  I  know 
not,  or  to  believe  that  which  I  cannot  express. 
And  as  for  Holy  Church,  what  Holy  Church  may 
consider  I  know  not ;  but  when  you  speak  of 
discerning  God  in  honour  and  fair  works,  I 
understand  you,  and  take  up  your  argument  in 
this  manner.  For  what  you  think  most  eloquent 
of  God  may  be  a  beautiful  lady." 

"  God  is  truly  there  for  me,"  said  Prosper,  and 
thought  of  Isoult's  good  eyes. 

"  And  for  me,  fair  sir,"  cried  his  host  kindling, 
"  if  all  women  were  as  lovely  and  wise  as  my 
friend  of  late.  There  indeed  was  a  woman 
redolent  of  God." 

"Ah,  you  are  out  there,  sir,"  said  Prosper; 
"  you  are  terribly   out." 

The  young  man  smiled.  "  Look  now,  my 
friend,  where  we  are  with  our  definitions,"  said 
he.  "  We  divide  at  the  onset.  Now,  say  that 
instead  of  a  woman,  I  found  a  turnip-field  the 
most  adorable  thing  in  the  world.  Can  we 
both  be  right  ?  No,  indeed.  Now  my  reading 
tells  me  of  all  the  gods  whom   men   have  wor- 


GUESS-WORK    AT   GOLTRES  289 

shipped — of  Klepht  and  Put  and  Ra;  of  Mel- 
karth  also,  and  Bel;  of  Moloch,  Thammuz,  and 
Astarte  (a  Phoenician  deity).  I  learn  next  of 
the  gods  of  Olympus,  of  those  of  Rome  and 
Etruria;  of  the  Scandinavians,  and  of  many 
modern  gods.  Now  either  these  peoples  have 
made  their  own  gods,  in  which  case  I  too  can 
make  one ;  or  God  hath  revealed  Himself  to 
some  one  alone — and  then  He  would  seem  to 
have  dealt  ungenerously  with  the  others,  equally 
His  creatures,  and  left  blind ;  or  He  hath  never 
revealed  Himself,  which  is  against  Nature;  or 
He  is  not.  These  are  the  questions  I  would 
solve,  if  Galors  give  me  time." 

"Sir,  sir,"  cried  Prosper,  "you  do  but  fog 
yourself  to  little  purpose !  But  you  should  live 
honestly  and  sanely,  going  much  abroad,  and 
you  would   have   no  doubts." 

"  My  author,"  said  Spiridion  calmly,  indicating 
his  Hebrew  text,  "  tells  me  that  there  are  one- 
and-thirty  different  ways  of  finding  God  out. 
Of  which  crystal-gazing,  says  he  in  a  famous 
passage,  is  the  readiest.  But  as  yet  I  have  not 
found  it  so.  Maybe  I  shall  try  yours  another 
day — if  I  have  another  day." 

Whereupon,  as  if  reminded  of  his  delaying,  he 
would  have  turned  again  to  his  work;  but 
Prosper  clapped   a  hand  to  his  shoulder. 

"  Have  done  with  groping  in  books,  Spiridion," 
cried  he,  "and  tell  me  if  you  think  this  a  time 
for  such  folly,  when  your  life  is  threatened  by 
Galors  and   his  Riders  ? " 

"  It  is  the  time  of  all  times,"  returned  Spiridion  ; 
"  for  if  I  know  not  who  is  really  God  of  all  the  host 


290 


THE   FOREST   LOVERS 


with  claims  to  His  rank,  how  shall  I  pray  when 
my  visitation  comes,  or  how  pray  that  it  come 
not  ?  It  was  for  lack  of  this  knowledge  that  my 
people  were  murdered  the  other  day.  So  you 
see   that  the  affair  is  urgent." 

"  I  think  the  defence  of  the  house  and  a  long 
sword  would  fit  your  case  better,"  said  Prosper 
dryly.  "  Meanwhile,  you  must  forgive  me  if  I 
remind  you  that  I  have  ridden  all  day  without 
food  or  rest,  and  beg  of  you  to  afford  me  one  or 
the  other." 

"  Ten  thousand  pardons  !  "  said  Spiridion,  get- 
ting up  at  once,  "that  my  little  griefs  should 
make  me  forget  your  serious  claims  upon  my 
hospitality.  Come,  sir,  here  are  bread  and  olives, 
here  is  a  flask  of  a  very  passable  wine — all  at 
your  service.     Afterwards  we  will  share  a  bed." 

They  sat  on  books,  and  ate  what  there  was. 
Outside  the  wind  had  freshened;  it  buffeted 
fitfully  but  fiercely  at  the  window,  and  came  with 
dashes  of  rain.  Down  the  corridor  they  could 
hear  the  casements  swinging  and  banging,  and 
over  all  the  wind  itself  roaring  through  the  great 
bare  passages  as  if  they  had  been  tunnels. 

"  A  wild  night,  Spiridion,"  said  Prosper.  "  And 
what  a  night,"  thought  he,  "  for  a  surprise." 

"  Wild  enough,"  replied  Spiridion,  "  but  I  am 
indifferent  to  weather,  being  seldom  abroad.  How 
do  you  find  this  wine  ?  " 

)  "  Excellent,"  said  Prosper,  and  drained  his 
glass. 

"  Of  this  Galors,  whom  I  think  you  know," 
Spiridion  continued,  "  I  hear  bad  reports.  Not 
only  has  he  cut  the  throats  of  my  household. 


GUESS-WORK   AT   GOLTRES  291 

but  from  the  account  given  me  by  my  fair  friend 
(concerning  whom,"  he  said  with  a  bow,  "  we  are 
agreed  to  differ),  I  fear  he  is  otherwise  of  a  wild 
and  irregular  conversation." 

"You  are  right  there,  my  friend,"  laughed 
Prosper. 

"  It  he  murders  me,"  the  other  went  on,  sipping 
his  wine,  "  it  will  be  on  some  such  night  as  this." 

"  I  have  just  said  as  much  to  myself,"  Prosper 
replied ;  "  but  I  will  do  my  best  to  prevent  him, 
I  assure  you." 

"  You  are  so  courteous  a  defender,  fair  sir," 
said  Spiridion,  "  I  could  wish  you  a  more  worthy 
client." 

Prosper  inwardly  agreed  with  him.  Shortly 
afterwards  Spiridion  bowed  him  to  bed.  For  him- 
self he  carefully  undressed  and  put  on  his  night- 
shirt; then,  lying  down,  he  was  asleep  in  a  moment. 
The  storm  was  by  this  time  a  gale,  the  noise  of 
it  continuous  out  doors  and  in.  Prosper  judged 
it  expedient  to  have  his  arms  within  reach ;  the 
more  so  as  he  could  not  help  fancying  he  had 
heard  the  sound  of  rowlocks  on  the  mere.  He 
stripped  himself  therefore  to  his  doublet  and 
breeches,  heaped  his  armour  by  the  bedside, 
slung  his  shield  and  sword  over  the  foot,  and 
then  lay  down  by  his  peaceful  companion.  He 
had  not  forgotten  either  to  look  to  the  trimming 
and  feeding  of  the  lamp. 

Sleep,  however,  was  miles  from  him  in  such  a 
pandemonium  of  noise.  The  wind  wailed  and 
screamed,  the  windows  volleyed,  wainscots  creaked, 
doors  rattled  on  their  locks.  Sometimes  with  a 
shock  like  a  thunder-clap  the  body  of  the  storm 


392  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

hurled  against  the  walls ;  the  great  house  seemed 
to  shudder  and  groan;  then  there  would  be  a 
lull  as  if  the  spirits  of  riot  had  spent  themselves. 
In  one  of  these  pauses  Prosper  was  pretty  sure 
he  heard  a  step  on  the  stairs.  Not  at  all  sur- 
prised, for  it  was  just  such  a  night  as  he  would 
have  chosen,  he  listened  painfully ;  but  the  noise 
drowned  all.  Came  another  moment  of  recoil, 
he  heard  it  again,  nearer.  He  got  out  of  bed, 
went  to  the  door,  opened  it  silendy,  and  listened. 
There  were  certainly  movements  in  the  house, 
feet  coming  up  the  stairs ;  he  thought  to  catch 
hoarse  whisperings,  and  once  the  clang  of  metal. 
There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  shut,  bolted,  and 
locked  the  door ;  then  turned  to  his  armour.  A 
swift  step  undisguised  in  the  corridor  put  all 
beyond  question ;  there  was  an  attack  preparing. 
He  had  no  time  to  do  any  more  than  snatch  up 
shield  and  sword,  before  he  saw  the  flame  of  a 
torch  under  the  door  and  heard  the  voices  of 
men. 

Prosper  stood  sword  in  hand,  waiting. 

"  Spiridion,"  he  said,  "  wake  up  !  " 

Spiridion  moaned,  stirred  a  little,  and  sank 
again.     A  high  voice  called   out — 

"  Spiridion,  thou  thin  traitor,  open  the  door 
and   deliver  up   him   thou  harbourest." 

The  wind  shrieked  and  mocked  ;  then  Spiridion 
woke  up  with  a  shiver. 

"  The  hour  is  come  before  my  God  is  ready. 
Now  I  must  die  unknowing,"  said  he,  and  sat 
up  in  bed  with  his  yellow  hair  all  about  his 
face. 

"It   is  me  they  seek,"   said  Prosper.     "  Now 


GUESS-WORK    AT   GOLTRES  293 

then  if  it  will  save  thee  I  will  open  and  go  out  to 
them."  He  went  straight  to  the  door,  put  his 
face  against  the  key-hole,  and  cried  out — "  If  I 
come  out,  will  ye  save  Spiridion  alive?" 

There  followed  a  babble  of  voices  speaking  all 
at  once ;  afterwards  the  same  shrill  voice  took  up 
his  challenge,  wailing  like  the  wind — "  Spiridion, 
open  the  door  before  we  break  it  in." 

Prosper  said  again — "Will  you  have  me  for 
Spiridion  ?  " 

"  We  will  have  both,  by  God,"  rang  a  deep 
note,   the  voice   of  Galors. 

As  if  at  a  signal  swords  began  to  batter  at  the 
door,  pommels  and  blades.  One  pierced  the 
panel  and  struck  through  on  the  inside.  Prosper 
snapped  it  off  short.  "  One  less,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
they  will  soon  be  done  with  it." 

"  My  friend,"  said  Spiridion,  who  was  shivering 
with  cold  (his  night-shirt  being  over  short  for 
the  season),  "  my  friend,  I  must  die.  What  can 
I  do  for  thee  ?     The  time  is  short." 

"Brother,"  answered  Prosper,  "get  a  sword 
and  harness,  and  I  will  keep  the  door  till  thou 
art  ready.  Then  we  will  open  it  suddenly,  and 
do  what  becomes  us." 

"  Dear  friend,"  Spiridion  said  mildly,  "  I  have 
no  sword.  And  since  I  am  to  die,  I  will  die  as 
well  in  my  shirt  as  in  a  suit  of  mail." 

"  Certainly,  you  are  a  great  fool,"  said  Prosper, 
"  Yet  I  will  defend  you  as  well  as  I  can.  Get 
behind  me  now,  for  the  door  is  shaking,  and 
cannot  hold  out  much  longer." 

Their  assailants,  without  any  further  speech 
among  themselves,  beat  at  the   door  furiously. 


294  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

or  with  short  runs  hurtled  against  it  with  their 
shoulders.  It  seemed  impossible  it  should  stand, 
yet  stand  it  did.  Then  one,  Galors,  cried 
suddenly  out,  "  Fetch  a  hatchet !  "  and  another 
ran  helter-skelter  down  the  corridor.  The  rest 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him ;  the  battering 
ceased. 

"  Here,"  said  Spiridion,  standing  in  his  night- 
shirt before  the  shelf  of  images,  "  here  are  images 
of  Christ  on  the  Cross,  of  Mahound  (made  by  a 
Maltese  Jew),  of  Diana  of  the  Ephesians,  and 
Jupiter  Ammon.  Here,  too,  are  a  Thammuz 
wrought  in  jade,  and  a  cat-faced  woman  sitting 
naked  in  a  chair.  All  are  gods,  and  any  one 
of  them  may  be  very  God.  Before  which  should 
I  kneel  ?  For  to  one  I  will  as  surely  kneel  as 
I  shall  surely  die," 

Prosper  flushed  red  with  annoyance.  "Brother," 
said  he,  "  thou  art  a  greater  fool  than  I  thought 
possible.  Die  how  you  will.  God  knows  how 
little  of  a  god  am  I ;  but  I  will  do  what  I  can. 
Hey,  now !  look  about !  "  he  called  out  the  next 
minute,  and  leapt  back  into  the  room.  The  door 
split  in  the  midst  and  fell  apart.  Two  men  fully 
armed,  with  their  vizors  down,  burst  into  the 
light;  they  were  upon  him  in  a  flash.  Prosper 
up  with  his  shield  and  drove  at  them.  They 
were  no  match  for  him  with  swords,  as  they  very 
soon  found  when  he  penned  them  back  in  the 
entry.  One  of  the  pair,  indeed,  lost  his  arm  in 
the  first  passes  of  the  game,  but  the  press  of  men 
behind  forced  them  suddenly  and  violently  for- 
ward whether  they  would  or  no.  Prosper  skew^- 
ered  one  of  them  like  a  capon,  against  his  own 


GUESS-WORK  AT   GOLTRES 


295 


will,  for  he  knew  what  must  happen  of  that. 
Precisely ;  before  he  could  disengage  his  weapon 
two  more  were  at  him  in  front,  and  one  dodging 
round  behind  him  with  the  hatchet  slogged  at 
his  head  with  the  back  of  it.  Prosper  tottered ; 
it  was  all  up  with  him.  Another  assailant  slipped 
in  under  his  guard  with  a  pike,  which  he  drove 
into  his  ribs.  A  second  stinging  blow  from  the 
hatchet  dropped  him.  Prone  on  his  face  he  fell, 
and  never  knew  of  the  trampling  he  had  from 
the  freed  pass. 

They  cut  down  and  slew  Spiridion  as  he  was 
kneeling  in  his  shirt  before  the  crucifix ;  and 
then  Galors  came  into  the  room  to  see  that  the 
work  was  done. 

Prosper  was  lying  on  his  face  as  he  had  fallen, 
with  a  great  hole  in  his  head.  Galors  suffered 
a  contempt  which  he  could  not  afford  to  such 
an  enemy.  He  kicked  the  body.  "  Rot  there, 
carrion,"  he  said;  then,  with  an  after-thought, 
"  No — rot  in  the  water.  Throw  the  pair  of  them 
by  the  window,"  he  ordered  his  men,  "  and  wait 
outside  the  gates  for  me.  I  have  things  to  do 
here."     This  was  done. 

When  he  was  alone  he  stripped  off  all  his 
armour,  and  put  on  instead  Prosper's  equipment. 
The  defaced  shield  vexed  him.  Nothing  was  left 
of  the  blazon ;  nothing  was  left  at  all  but  the 
legend,   "  /  bide  my  time." 

"  That  is  what  I  will  do  no  longer,"  said  Galors 
with  a  heavy  oath.  "  I  have  bided  long  enough ; 
now,  friend  Prosper,  do  you  bide  yours.  As  for 
the  cognizance,  I  know  it  very  well  by  this ;  it 
shall  be  on   again   by  the   morning.     Then   we 


296  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

will  see  if  I  can  do  as  Prosper  what  I  have  failed 
to  do  as  Galors." 

He  headed  his  troop  for  Hauterive,  reached  it 
before  daylight,  and  ended  (as  he  thought)  a 
signal  chapter  in  his  progress.  As  for  Prosper, 
he  bided  his  time  with  a  broken  head  in  Peering 
Pool. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

GALORS    RIDES    HUNTING 

On  the  morning  after  the  storm  at  Goitres, 
July  1 8,  Galors  sat  in  the  hall  of  his  stronghold 
habited  as  he  had  ridden  in  but  a  few  hours 
before.  In  came  a  red-haired  peasant,  asking 
to  be  made  his  man. 

"  Why  so,  fellow  ?  "  asked  Galors. 

"  Lording,"  said  Falve,  **  because  my  mother 
hath  done  me  a  wrong." 

"  Why,  thou  dog  ?  "  cried  Galors.  "  Would'st 
thou  cut  thy  mother's  throat  under  my  flag  ? " 

"  Lording,"  Falve  answered,  "  I  would  not  cut 
my  mother's  throat  under  the  Pope's  flag.  But 
I  know  thee  to  be  a  great  lord,  master  of  all 
these  walks  of  Morgraunt.  If  I  were  made  free 
of  thy  company  I  could  ask  thee  a  mercy ; 
and  if  I  asked  thee  a  mercy  it  would  be  that 
thou  should'st  order  my  mother  to  give  me  back 
my  wife." 

"  How,  thy  wife,  rogue  ? "  said  Galors,  who 
was  weary  of  the  man. 

"  Lording,  she  w^as  to  have  been  my  wife  this 
day.  But  she  lay  last  night  with  my  mother, 
and  by  the  show  of  a  certain  token,  which  un- 
known to  me  she  wore  about  her,  prevailed  upon 

297 


298  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

my  mother  to  let  her  go.  So  now  she  has 
escaped  into  the  forest,  and  I  am  beggared  of 
her  without  thy  help." 

By  this  Galors  was  awake.  He  leaned  forward 
in  his  chair,  put  chin  to  hand,  and  asked  quietly 
— "  How  was  she  called,  this  wife  of  thine,  my 
knave  ? " 

"Lording,"  replied  the  poor  eager  rogue,  "she 
was  a  boy  at  first,  called  Roy ;  then  she  revealed 
herself  a  maiden." 

"I  asked  her  maiden  name,  red  fool." 

"  Her  name,  my  lording,  was  Isoult  la 
Desirous." 

"Ah!     At  last!" 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  saying  shortly, 
"  Take  me  this  instant  to  thy  mother." 

"But,  lord " 

"  Silence,  lout,  or  I  swing  you  sky-high.  To 
your  mother  without  a  word." 

Poor  Falve,  in  a  cold  sweat,  obeyed.  They 
found  the  old  lady  making  breathless  prepara- 
tions for  departure. 

"Mother,"  began  Falve,  "my  Lord  Galors " 

"Peace,  fool!"  broke  in  Galors.  "Dame,"  he 
said  civilly,  "  I  must  thank  you  for  the  great 
charge  you  have  been  at  with  a  certain  lady 
much  in  both  our  hearts.  No  doubt  she  has 
spoken  to  you  of  Messire  Prosper  le  Gai. 
Madam,   I   am   he." 

"  As  God  is  great,"  Falve  cried,  "  I  could  have 
sworn  the  lord  of  this  town  was  Messire  Galors 
De  Born." 

"  And  so  he  was  but  yesterday,"  said  Galors. 
"  But  now  I  hold  it  for  the  Countess  Isabel." 


GALORS    RIDES    HUNTING  299 

The  old  woman  was  convinced  at  this  name. 
She  caught  Galors  by  the  arm. 

"  And  will  you  take  back  the  lamb  to  the 
dam  ?  "  she  bleated. 

"  That  is  all  I  ask,"  replied  Galors,  speaking 
the  truth. 

"  You  may  catch  her,  Messire — you  may  catch 
her.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  have  known  of  you 
yester-e'en !  She's  had  but  seven  hours'  start 
of  you.  Take  the  path  for  Thorny  hold  Brush, 
and  you'll  find  her.  Jesu  Christ!  when  I  saw 
the  bleeding  bird  again  I  could  have  died,  had 
there  not  been  better  work  before  me." 

"  The  bleeding  bird  ?  Ah !  the  token,  you 
would  say." 

"  Yes,  Messire,  yes !  The  pelican  in  piety — 
the  torn  breast !  The  I  and  F.  Ah !  blood 
enough  shed,  blood  enough.  Go  quickly.  Sir 
Prosper,  and  testify  for  your  name ;  'tis  of  good 
omen  and  better  report.  And  have  you  killed 
that  sick  wolf  Galors,  Messire  ?  There,  there, 
God  will  bless  you  for  that,  and  prosper  you  as 
you  have  prospered  us !  " 

Galors  swallowed  the  pill  and  went  out  with 
no  more  ceremony.     Falve  ran  after  him. 

"  Eh,  eh,  Messire  !  "  he  spluttered.  Galors 
let  him  splutter  till  they  were  within  the  court- 
yard.    Then  he  called  to  a  trooper. 

"  Take  this  man  and  flog  him  well,"  said  he. 
Falve  was  seized. 

"Ah,  my  lording,"  cried  he,  "what  do  you 
there  ?  Must  1  be  flogged  because  I  have  lost 
my  wife  ?  " 


50O  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

"No,  dog.  But  because  you  have  married 
mine." 

"  Nay,  nay,  mercy,  my  lording !  I  have  not 
yet  married  her." 

"  Ha  I  "  said  Galors,  "  then  you  shall  be  flogged 
for  jilting  her." 

And  flogged  he  was.  And  the  flogging  cost 
Galors  his  prize. 

Galors  now  bestirred  himself.  First  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Countess,  thus 
conceived. 

"To  the  high  lady,  the  Lady  Isabel  de  Forz, 
Countess  of  Hauterive,  Countess  Dowager  of 
March  and  Bellesme,  Lady  of  Morgraunt — 
Galors  de  Born,  Lord  of  Hauterive,  Goitres,  and 
West  Wan,  sendeth  greeting  in  the  Lord  ever- 
lasting. 

"  That  which  your  Serenity  lost  early  is  not 
too  late  found,  and  by  us.  The  crystal  locket, 
having  the  pelican  in  the  Crown  of  Thorns, 
when  we  bring  it  upon  the  bosom  where  it 
hath  ever  slept  waiting  for  the  day  which  shall 
reveal  it  to  you,  will  testify  whether  we  lie  or 
lie  not.  Know,  however,  that  she  shall  assuredly 
come,  and  not  unattended ;  but,  as  befits 
her  condition,  under  the  hand  of  him  who, 
having  found  her,  will  provide  that  she  be  not 
lost  again.  It  is  not  unknown  to  you.  High 
Mightiness,  how  our  power  and  estate  have 
grown  in  these  days  to  the  threatening  of  your  own. 
So  it  is,  indeed,  that  now,  in  blood,  in  fees,  in 
renown,  in  power  of  life  and  member,  we  are 
near  enough  to  you  to  seek  alliance  still  more 
close.     And  this  is  the  last  word  of  Galors ;  let 


GALORS    RIDES    HUNTING  301 

the  wearer  of  the  crystal  locket  come  home  as 
the  betrothed  of  the  Lord  Galors  de  Born,  and 
heiress  of  High  March  and  Morgraunt,  Countess 
of  Hauterive  in  time  to  be,  and  she  shall  come 
indeed.  Otherwise  she  comes  not ;  but  Haute- 
rive wears  the  crown  which  High  March  looks  to 
put  on.  Thus  we  commend  you  to  the  holy 
keeping  of  God.  From  our  tower  of  Hauterive, 
on  the  feast  of  Saint  Arnulphus,  bishop  and 
martyr,  the  15th  calends  of  August,  in  the  first 
year  of  our  principality  West  of  Wan." 

This  letter,  sealed  with  the  three  wicket-gates 
and  the  circumscript,  Entra  per  me,  he  sent 
forward  at  once  by  a  party  of  six  riders,  one  of 
whom  carried  a  flag  of  truce.  Then  with  but 
three  to  follow  him,  he  rode  out  of  the  town, 
taking  the  path  for  Thornyhold  Brush. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MERCY    WITH    THE    BEASTS 

IsouLT,  SO  soon  as  she  had  seen  the  last  of  old 
Ursula,  turned  her  face  to  the  south  and  the  sun. 
She  walked  a  mile  through  bush  and  bramble 
with  picked-up  skirts;  then  she  sat  down  and 
took  off  her  scarlet  shoes  and  stockings,  threw 
them  aside,  and  went  on  with  a  lighter  tread.  Not 
that  she  was  above  the  glory  of  silk  robes  and 
red  slippers,  or  unconscious  that  they  heightened 
the  charm  of  her  person — the  old  woman's  glass, 
the  old  woman's  face  had  told  her  better  than 
that.  Indeed,  if  she  could  have  believed  she 
would  meet  with  Prosper  at  the  end  of  that  day, 
she  would  have  borne  with  them,  hindrance  or 
none.  But  this  was  not  to  be.  Her  hair  was 
yet  a  good  six  inches  from  her  knees.  So  now, 
bare-legged  and  bare-footed,  her  skirts  pulled 
back  and  pinned  behind  her,  she  felt  the  glad 
tune  of  the  woods  singing  in  her  veins,  and  ran 
against  the  stream  of  cool  air  deeper  into  the 
fountain-heart  whence  it  flowed,  the  great  silence 
and  shade  of  the  forest.  The  path  showed  barer, 
the  stems  more  sparse,  the  roof  above  her  denser. 
Soon  there  was  no  more  grass,  neither  any  moss ; 
nothing    but    mast    and    the    leaves    of  many 

302 


MERCY   WITH  THE   BEASTS 


303 


autumns.  Keeping  always  down  the  slope,  and 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  sun,  by  mid-day  she  had 
run  clear  of  the  beech  forest  into  places  where 
there  grew  hornbeams,  with  one  or  two  sapling 
oaks.  There  was  tall  bracken  here,  and  dewy 
grass  again  for  her  feet.  She  rested  herself,  sat 
deep  in  shade  listening  to  the  murmur  of  bees  in 
the  sunlight  and  the  gentle  complaining  of  wood- 
pigeons  in  the  tree-tops  far  toward  the  blue. 
She  lay  down  luxuriously  in  the  fern,  pillowed 
her  cheek  on  her  folded  hands,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  let  all  the  forest  peace  fan  her  to  happy 
dreaming.  It  was  impossible  to  be  ill  at  ease  in 
such  a  harbour.  The  alien  faces  and  brawl  of 
the  town,  the  grime,  the  sweat,  the  blows  of  the 
charcoal-burners,  her  secret  life  there  in  the 
midst  of  them,  the  shame,  the  hooting  and  the 
stunning  of  her  last  day  at  distant  High  March, 
Maulfry,  Galors,  leering  Falve — all  these  grim 
apparitions  sank  back  into  the  green  woodland 
vistas ;  all  the  shocks  and  alarums  of  her  timid 
little  soul  were  subdued  by  the  rustling  boughs 
and  the  crooning  voices  of  the  doves.  She  saw 
bright  country  in  her  dreams.  Prosper  was 
abroad  on  a  spurred  horse ;  his  helmet  gleamed 
in  the  sun ;  his  enemies  fell  at  his  onset.  The 
deer  browsed  about  her,  from  the  branches  a 
squirrel  peeped  down,  the  wood-birds  with  kindly 
peering  eyes  hopped  within  reach  of  her  cradled 
arms.  Soon,  soon,  soon,  she  should  see  him ! 
She  would  be  sitting  at  his  knees  ;  her  cheek 
would  be  on  his  breast,  his  arm  hold  her  close, 
his  kind  eyes  read  all  her  love-story.  What  a 
reward  for  what  a  little  aching !     She  fell  asleep 


304  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

in  the  fern  and  smiled  at  her  own  dreams. 
When  she  awoke  two  girls  sat  sentinel  beside 
her. 

They  were  ruddy,  handsome,  cheerful  girls, 
with  scarcely  a  pin's  point  of  difference  between 
them.  They  had  brown  eyes,  brown  loose  hair, 
the  bloom  of  healthy  blood  on  their  skin.  One 
was  more  fully  formed,  more  assured ;  perhaps 
she  laughed  rather  less  than  the  other ;  it  was 
not  noticeable.  Isoult,  with  sleepy  eyes,  regarded 
them  languidly,  half  awake.  They  sat  on  either 
side  of  her;  each  clasped  a  knee  with  her  two 
hands ;  both  watched  her.  Then  the  elder  with 
a  little  laugh  shook  her  hair  back  from  her 
shoulders,  stooped  quickly  forward,  and  kissed 
her.     Isoult  sat  up. 

"  Oh,  who  are  you  ?  "  she  wondered. 

"  I  am  Belvisee,"  said  the  kissing  girl. 

"  I  am  Mellifont,"  said  the  laugher. 

**  Do  you  live  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  this  Thornyhold  ?  " 

^*  Thornyhold  Brush  is  very  near." 

"  Will  you  take  me  ?     I  am  to  wait  there." 

"  Come,  sister." 

Belvisee  helped  her  up  by  the  hand.  When 
she  was  afoot  Mellifont  caught  her  other  hand 
and  kissed  her  in  her  turn — a  glad  and  friendly 
little  embrace.  Friends  indeed  they  looked  as 
they  stood  hand-linked  in  the  fern.  All  three 
were  of  a  height ;  Isoult  a  shade  shorter  than  the 
sisters. 

She  contrasted  her  attire  with  theirs  ;  her  own 
so   ceremonious,    theirs,   what   there   was    of  it. 


MERCY   WITH   THE    BEASTS  305 

simple  in  the  extreme.  A  smock  of  coarse  green 
flax,  cut  at  a  slant,  which  left  one  shoulder  and 
breast  bare,  was  looped  on  to  the  other  shoulder, 
and  caught  at  the  waist  by  a  leather  strap.  It 
bagged  over  the  belt,  and  below  it  fell  to  brush 
the  knees.  Arms,  legs,  and  feet  were  bare  and 
brown.  Visibly  they  wore  nothing  else.  Melli- 
font  laughed  to  see  the  scrutiny. 

"  We  must  undress  you,"  she  said. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  run  like  that." 

"  No,  that  is  quite  true.     But " 

"  Oh,"  said  Belvisee,  "  you  are  quite  safe.  No 
men  come  where  the  king  is." 

"The  king!" 

"  King  of  the  herd." 

"  Ah,  the  deer  are  near  by." 

"  All  Thornyhold  is  theirs.  The  great  herd  is 
here." 

"  Do  you  live  with  them  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  they  feed  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,"  said  Isoult,  "  then  I  shall  be  at  peace 
till  my  lord  comes,  if  there  are  no  men." 

"  Have  you  a  lord,  a  lover  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  my  lord,  and  1  love  him  dearly." 

"  We  have  none.     What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Isoult  la  Desirous." 

"  Because  you  are  a  lover  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  am  a  lover." 

"I  will  never  love  a  man,"  said  Belvisee  rather 
gravely.     "  All  men  are  cruel." 

"  I  will    never  have    a  lover,  nor  be  a   lover, 

X 


3o6  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

until  men  know  what  love  is,"  said  Mellifont  in 
her  turn. 

"And  what  is  love,  do  you  think?"  Isoult 
asked  her  thrilling. 

"  Love  !     Love  !     It  is  service,"  said  Belvisee. 

"  Service  and  giving,"  said  Mellifont. 

Isoult   turned    aside   and    kissed    Mellifont's 
cheek. 

They  had  reached  the  low  ground,  for  they  had 
been  walking  during  this  colloquy.  Oaks  stood 
all  about  them,  with  bracken  shoulder  higfi. 
Into  this  the  three  girls  plunged,  and  held  on  till 
they  were  stopped  by  a  shallow  brook.  The 
sisters  waded  in,  so  did  Isoult  when  she  had 
picked  up  her  skirts  and  petticoats.  After  a 
little  course  up  stream  through  water  joyfully 
cool  they  reached  a  place  where  the  brook  made 
a  bend  round  the  roots  of  an  enormous  oak; 
turning  this  they  opened  on  a  pool  broad  and  deep. 

"  We  will  robe  you  here,"  said  Belvisee,  mean- 
ing rather  to  unrobe  her. 

The  great  gnarly  roots  of  the  oak  were  as 
pillars  to  a  chamber  which /an  far  into  the  bank. 
Here  the  two  girls  undressed  Isoult,  and  here 
they  folded  and  laid  by  her  red  silk  gown.  She 
became  a  pearly  copy  of  themselves  in  all  but 
her  hair.  Her  hair  !  They  had  never  seen  such 
hair.  Measuring  it  they  found  it  almost  to  her 
knees. 

"  You  cannot  go  with  it  loose,"  said  they. 
"  We  must  knot  it  up  again ;  but  we  will  go  first 
to  the  herd." 

"Let  us  go  now,"  added  Mellifont  on  an 
impulse,  and  took  Isoult  by  the  hand. 


MERCY   WITH  THE    BEASTS  307 

Crossing  the  brook  below  the  pool,  they 
climbed  the  bank  and  found  themselves  in  a 
sunny  broad  place.  The  light  glanced  in  and 
out  of  the  slim  grey  trees.  The  bracken  was 
thinner,  the  grass  rich  and  dewy.  Here  Isoult 
saw  the  great  herd  of  red  deer — hundreds  of 
hundreds — hinds  and  calves  with  some  brockets 
and  harts,  busy  feeding.  Over  all  that  spacious 
glade  the  herd  was  spread  out  till  there  seemed 
no  end  to  it. 

A  sentinel  stag  left  feeding  as  they  came  on. 
He  looked  up  for  a  moment,  stamped  his  foot, 
and  went  back  to  grass.  One  or  two  others 
copied  him  ;  but  mostly  the  three  girls  could  go 
among  them  without  notice.  Imperceptibly,  how- 
ever, the  herd  followed  them  feeding  on  their  way 
to  the  king,  so  that  by  the  time  they  reached  him 
there  was  a  line  of  deer  behind  them,  and  deer  at 
either  flank. 

The  great  hart  also  stamped  his  foot  and  stood 
at  gaze,  with  towering  antlers  and  dewy  nostrils 
very  wide.  Before  him  Belvisee  and  Mellifont 
let  go  of  Isoult's  hand  :  she  was  to  make  her 
entry  alone.  She  put  them  behind  her  back, 
hardly  knowing  what  was  expected  of  her,  shrank 
a  little  into  herself  and  waited  timidly.  Slowly 
then  the  great  hart  advanced  before  his  peering 
courtiers,  pacing  on  with  nodding  head  and  horns. 
Exactly  in  front  of  Isoult  he  planted  his  forefeet, 
thence  he  looked  down  from  his  height  upon  her. 
She  had  always  loved  the  deer,  and  was  not  now 
afraid  ;  but  she  covered  herself  with  her  hair. 

The  king  stag  smelt  her  over,  beginning  at  her 
feet.     He  snuffed  for  a  long  time  at  the  nape  of  her 


3o8  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

neck,  blew  in  her  hair  so  as  to  spray  it  out  hke  a 
fountain  scattered  to  the  wind  ;  then  he  fell  to 
licking  her  cheek.  She,  made  bold,  put  a  hand 
and  laid  it  on  his  mane.  Shyly  she  stood  thus, 
waiting  events.  The  great  beast  lifted  his  head 
high  and  gave  a  loud  bellow  ;  all  the  deer  chorus- 
sed  him ;  the  forest  rang.  So  Isoult  was  made 
free  of  the  herd. 

Belvisee  and  Mellifont  lay  beside  her  on  the 
grass.  Isoult  lay  on  her  face,  while  Mellifont 
coiled  and  knotted   up   her  hair. 

"  If  love  is  giving,  and  you  are  a  lover,  Isoult," 
said  she,  "  you  would  give  your  hair." 

"  I  have  given  it,"  said  Isoult,  and  told  them 
her  story  as  they  all  lay  there  together. 

"  And  to  think  that  you  have  endured  all  this 
from  men,  and  yet  love  a  man !  "  cried  flushed 
Mellifont,  when  she  had  made  an  end. 

But  Isoult  smiled  wisely  at  her. 

"  Ah,  Mellifont,"  she  said,  ''  the  more  you  saw 
of  men,  the  more  you  would  find  to  love  in 
him." 

"  Indeed,  I  should  do  no  such  thing,"  said 
Mellifont,  firing  up  again. 

"  You  could  not  help  it.  Every  one  must  love 
him." 

"That  might  not  suit  you,  Isoult,"  said 
Belvisee. 

"  Why  should  it  not  ?  Would  it  prevent  my 
love  to  know  him  loved  ?  I  should  love  him  all 
the  more." 

"  Hark !  "  cried  Mellifont  on  a  sudden.  She 
laid  her  ear  to  the  ground,  then  jumped  to  her 
feet. 


MERCY   WITH   THE    BEASTS 

"  Come  to  the  herd,  come  to  the  herd,"  she 
whispered. 

Bekisee  was  on  her  feet  also  in  a  trice.  Both 
girls  were  hot  and  bright. 

"  What  disturbs  you  ?  "  asked  Isoult,  who  had 
heard  nothing. 

"  Horsemen !  quick,  quick."  They  all  ran 
between  the  trees  to  regain  the  deer.  Isoult 
could  hear  no  horses  ;  but  the  sisters  had,  and 
now  she  saw  that  the  deer  had.  Every  head  was 
up,  every  ear  still,  every  nostril  on  the  stretch. 
Listening  now  intently,  faint  and  far  she  did  hear 
a  muffled  knocking — it  was  like  a  beating  heart, 
she  thought.  Whatever  it  was,  the  deer  guessed 
an  enemy.  Upon  a  sudden  stamp,  the  whole 
herd  was  in  motion.  Led  by  the  hart-royal,  they 
trotted  noiselessly  down  the  wood,  till  in  the  thick 
fern  they  lay  still.  The  girls  lay  down  with 
them. 

The  sound  gained  rapidly  upon  them.  Soon  they 
heard  the  crackling  of  twigs,  then  the  swish  of 
swept  brushwood,  then  the  creaking  of  girths. 
Isoult  hid  her  face,  lying  prone  on  her  breast. 

Galors  and  his  men  came  thundering  through 
the  wood.  Their  horses  were  reeking,  dripping 
from  the  flanks.  The  riders,  four  of  them,  look- 
ing neither  right  nor  left,  past  over  the  open 
ground,  where  a  few  minutes  before  she  whom 
they  desperately  sought  had  been  lying  at  their 
mercy.  But  Galors,  fled  by  all  things  living  in 
Morgraunt,  scourged  on  like  a  destroying  wind 
and  was  gone.  Isoult  little  knew  how  near  she 
had  been  to  the  unclean  thing.  If  she  had  seen 
him  she  would  have  run  straight  to  him  without 


3IO  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

a  thought,  for  he  bore  the  red  feathers  in  his 
helmet,  and  behind  him,  on  the  shield,  danced  in 
the  glory  of  new  gilt  the  Jesse  dancettee. 

It  may  be  doubted  if  the  instincts  of  the  earth- 
born  can  ever  pierce  the  trappings  of  a  knight- 
at-arms.  They  trust  in  emotions  which  such  gear 
is  designed  to  hide  or  transfigure.  Isoult,  observe, 
had  caught  Prosper  out  of  his  harness,  when  before 
the  face  of  the  sky  she  had  thrilled  him  to  pity. 
But  when  once  he  had  stooped  to  her,  for  the 
very  fact,  she  made  haste  to  set  him  up  on  high  in 
her  heart,  and  in  more  seemly  guise.  There  and 
thenceforward  he  stood  on  his  pedestal  figured, 
not  as  a  pitiful  saviour  (whom  a  girl  must  be 
taught  to  worship),  but  as  an  armed  god  who 
suffered  her  homage.  She  was  no  better  (or  no 
worse,  if  you  will)  than  the  rest  of  her  sex  in  this, 
that  she  loved  to  love,  and  was  bewildered  to  be 
loved.  So  she  would  never  get  him  out  of  armour 
again.     Her  God  might  not  stoop. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

WANMEETING    CRIES,  '  HA  !    SAINT    JAMES  !' 

The  story  returns  to  Prosper  le  Gai  and  his 
broken  head.  The  blow  had  been  sharp,  but 
Peering  Pool  was  sharper.  It  brought  him  to 
consciousness,  of  a  sort  sufficient  to  give  him  a 
disrelish  for  drowning.  Lucky  for  him  he  was 
unarmed.  He  found  himself  swimming,  pad- 
dling, rolling  at  random  ;  he  swallowed  quantities 
of  water,  and  liked  drowning  none  the  better.  By 
the  little  light  there  was  he  could  make  out  the 
line  of  the  dark  hull  of  Goitres,  by  the  little  wit 
he  had  he  remembered  that  the  water-gate  was 
midway  the  building  or  thereabouts.  He  turned 
his  face  to  the  wall  and,  half  clinging,  half  swim- 
ming, edged  along  it  till  he  reached  port.  The 
last  ebb  of  his  strength  sufficed  to  drag  him 
up  the  stair ;  then  he  floated  off  into  blankness 
again. 

When  he  stirred  he  was  stiff',  and  near  blind  with 
fever.  A  cold  light  silvered  the  pool ;  it  was  not 
yet  dawn.  His  plight  was  pitiable.  He  ached 
and  shivered  and  burned,  he  drowsed  and  mut- 
tered, dreamed  horribly,  sweated  and  was  cold, 
shuddered  and  was  hot.  One  of  his  arms  he 
could  not  lift  at  all ;  at  one  of  his  sides,  there  was 

3" 


312  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

a  great  stiff  cake  of  cloth  and  blood  and  water. 
He  became  light-headed,  sang,  shouted,  raved, 
swore,  prayed. 

"  To  me,  to  me,  Isoult  !  Ah,  dogs  of  the 
devil,  this  to  a  young  maid !  Yes,  madam,  the 
Lady  Isoult,  and  my  wife.  Love  her !  O  God, 
I  love  her  at  last.  Hounded,  hounded,  hounded 
out !  Love  of  Christ,  how  I  love  her !  Bailiff, 
Galors  will  come — a  white-faced,  sullen  dog.  Cut 
him  down,  bailiff,  without  mercy,  for  he  hath 
shown  no  mercy.  The  man  in  the  wood — ha ! 
dead — Salomon  de  Born.  Green  froth  on  his 
lips — fie,  poison  !  She  has  killed  Galors'  only 
son.  Galors,  she  has  poisoned  him — oh,  mercy, 
mercy.  Lord,  must  I  die  ?  "  And  then  with  tears, 
and  the  whining  of  a  child — "  Isoult,  Isoult, 
Isoult ! " 

In  tears  his  delirium  spent  itself,  and  again  he 
was  still,  in  a  broken  sleep.  The  sun  rose,  the 
sky  warmed  itself  and  glowed,  the  crispy  waves  of 
Peering  Pool  glittered,  the  white  burden  it  bore 
floated  face  upwards,  an  object  of  interest  and 
suspicion  for  the  coots  ;  soon  a  ray  of  generous 
heat  shot  obliquely  down  upon  the  sleeper  on  the 
stairs.  Prosper  woke  again,  stretched,  and  yawned. 
Most  of  his  pains  seemed  now  to  centre  in  the 
pit  of  his  stomach,  a  familiar  grief.  Prosper  was 
hungry. 

"  Pest !  "  said  the  youth,  "  how  hungry  I  am. 
I  can  do  nothing  till  I  have  eaten." 

He  tried  to  get  up,  and  did  succeed  in  raising 
himself  on  all  fours.  But  for  the  life  of  him  he 
could  do  no  more.  He  sat  down  again  and 
thought  about  eating.    He  remembered  the  bread 


'HA!    SAINT   JAMES!'  313 

and  olives,  the  not  unkindly  red  wine  of  the  night 
before.  Then  he  remembered  Spiridion,  dispenser 
of  meat  and  many  questions. 

"That  poor  doubting  rogue!  "  he  laughed. 
But  he  sobered  himself.  "  I  do  ill  to  laugh,  God 
knows !  The  man  must  be  dead  by  now,  and  all 
his  doubts  with  him.  I  must  go  find  him.  But 
I  must  eat  some  of  his  bread  and  olives  first." 

Once  more  he  got  on  all  fours,  and  this  time 
he  crawled  to  the  stop  of  the  stairway.  Clinging 
to  the  lintel  and  hoisting  himself  by  degrees,  he 
at  last  stood  fairly  on  his  feet — but  with  a  spin- 
ning head,  and  a  sickness  as  unto  death.  He 
tottered  and  flickered  ;  but  he  stuck  to  his  door- 
post. 

"  Bread  and  olives  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  to  die, 
it  seems,  but  by  the  Lord  I  will  eat  first." 

He  made  a  rush  for  it,  gained  so  the  great  hall, 
dizzied  through  it  somehow,  and  out  into  the 
corridor.  He  flung  himself  at  the  stone  stairs 
with  the  desperation  of  his  last  agony,  half  crawled, 
half  swarmed  up  to  the  top  (dragging  his  legs 
after  him  at  the  end,  like  a  hare  shot  in  the  back), 
and  finished  his  course  to  Spiridion's  chamber  on 
hands  and  knees.  He  had  probably  never  in  his 
life  before  worked  so  hard  for  a  breakfast.  He 
was  dripping  with  sweat,  shaking  like  gossamer; 
but  his  fev^er  had  left  him.  Bread  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  did  wonders  for  him.  He  felt  very  drunk 
when  he  had  done,  and  was  conscious  that  pot- 
valiancy  only  gave  him  the  heart  to  tear  off  his 
clothes.  A  flask  of  sweet  oil  from  Spiridion's 
shelf  helped  him  here.  Next  he  probed  the 
rents.     He  found  a  deepish  wound  in  the  groin,  a 


314  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

sword-cut  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his  left  arm  ;  then 
there  was  his  head  !  He  assured  himself  that  the 
skull  was  whole. 

"  I  never  respected  my  ancestors  before,"  he 
cried.  "  Such  a  head- piece  is  worthy  of  a 
Crusader," 

He  kindled  a  fire,  heated  water,  washed  out  his 
hurts,  oiled  them  and  bound  them  up  with  one  of 
Spiridion's  bed-sheets. 

"Now,"  he  reflected,  "by  rights  I  should  go 
and  hunt  for  my  poor  host.  But  I  am  still  drunk 
unfortunately.  Let  me  consider.  Spiridion  must 
pass  for  a  man.  If  he  is  dead  he  will  wait  for 
me.  If  he  is  not  dead  he  is  no  worse  off  than  I 
am.  Good.  I  will  sleep."  And  he  slept  round 
the  clock. 

Next  morning  when  he  awoke  he  was  stiff  and 
sore,  but  himself.  He  finished  the  bread,  drank 
another  bottle  of  wine,  and  looked  about  for  his 
armour.  It  was  not  there.  Instead,  the  white 
wicket-gates  gleamed  at  him  from  a  black  shield, 
white  plumes  from  a  black  headpiece,  and  the 
rest  of  a  concatenation. 

^' Entraper  7?ze,"  he  read.  "Enter  I  will,"  said 
Prosper,  "  and  by  you.  This  device,"  he  went  on, 
as  he  fitted  the  cuisses,  "  this  device  is  not  very 
worthy  of  Dom  Galors.  It  speaks  of  hurry.  It 
speaks,  even,  of  precipitation,  for  if  he  must 
needs  wear  my  harness,  at  least  he  might  have 
carried  his  own.  Galors  was  flurried.  If  he  was 
flurried  he  must  have  had  news.  If,  having 
news,  he  took  my  arms,  it  must  have  been  news 
of  Isoult.  He  intended  to  deceive  her  by  pass- 
ing for  me.     Good ;  I  will  deceive  his  allies  by 


'HA!   SAINT  JAMES!'  315 

passing  for  himself.  But  first  I  must  find 
Spiridion." 

He  had  too  much  respect  for  bis  enemy,  as 
you  will  observe  if  I  have  made  anything  of 
Galors.  Galors  was  no  refiner,  not  subtle;  he 
was  direct.  When  he  had  to  think  he  held  his 
tongue,  so  that  you  should  believe  him  profound. 
When  he  got  a  thought  he  made  haste  to  act 
upon  it,  because  it  really  embarrassed  him.  None 
of  Prosper's  imaginings  were  correct.  If  the 
monk  had  been  capable  of  harbouring  two 
thoughts  at  a  time,  there  would  not  have  been 
a  shred  of  mail  in  the  room. 

That  sodden  thing  lipped  by  the  restless  water 
was  Spiridion.  He  lay  on  his  back,  thinner 
and  more  peaked  than  ever  in  life ;  his  yellow 
hair  made  him  an  aureole.  He  looked  like  some 
martyred  ascetic,  with  his  tightened  smile  and  the 
gash  half-way  through  his  neck. 

Prosper  leaned  upon  his  punt-pole  looking 
sorrowfully  at  him. 

"Alas,  my  brother,"  he  said,  half  whimsically, 
"  do  you  smile  ?  Even  so  I  think  God  should 
smile  that  he  had  let  such  a  thing  be  made. 
And  if,  as  I  believe,  you  know  the  truth  at 
last,  that  is  why  you  also  smile.  But  shut  your 
eyes,  my  brother,"  he  added,  stooping  to  do  the 
office,  "  shut  your  eyes,  for  you  wore  them  thin 
with  searching  and  now  can  see  without  them. 
Let  them  rest." 

Very  tenderly  he  pulled  him  out  of  the  water, 
very  reverently  took  him  to  land.  He  buried 
him  before  his  own  gates,  and  over  him  set  the 
crucifix,  which  in  the  end  he  had  found  grace  to 


3i6  THE   FOREST    LOVERS 

see.  He  was  too  good  a  Christian  not  to  pray 
over  the  grave,  and  not  sufficient  of  a  hero  to  be 
frank  about  his  tears.  At  the  end  of  all  this 
business  he  found  his  horse.  Then  he  rode  off 
at  a  canter  for  Hauterive. 


It  is  one  thing  to  kindle  military  fires  in  the 
breast  of  a  high  bailiff,  quite  another  to  bid  them 
out.  Prosper  had  overstepped  his  authority. 
The  High  Bailiff  of  Wanmeeting  held  himself 
in  check  for  the  better  part  of  a  week  after  his 
generalissimo's  departure ;  at  the  end  of  five 
days  he  could  endure  it  no  more.  His  harness 
clamoured,  his  sword  tarnished  for  blood ;  he 
had  fifteen  hundred  men  in  steel.  That  would 
mean  fifteen  hundred  and  one  tarnishing  blades, 
and  the  unvoiced  reproaches  of  fifteen  hundred 
and  one  suits  of  mail.  In  a  word,  the  High 
Bailiff  itched  to  try  a  fall  with  the  redoubtable 
Galors  de  Born. 

He  sent,  therefore,  a  man  to  ring  the  great 
bell  of  the  parish  church.  This  assembled  the 
citizens  pell-mell,  for  the  times  were  stirring. 
The  High  Bailiff,  being  assured  of  his  auditory, 
summoned  the  garrison,  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  them  on  a  black  stallion,  sounded  trumpets, 
and  marched  into  the  Market-place.  The  cheers 
clipped  him  like  heady  wine ;  but  it  was  the 
eloquence  of  the  women's  handkerchiefs  that 
really  gave  him  heart.  Standing  in  his  stirrups, 
hat  in  hand,  he  made  a  short  speech. 

"  Men  of  Wanmeeting  and  brothers,"  he  said, 
"to-day     you    shall     prove     yourselves    worthy 


'HA!    SAINT   JAMES!'  317 

of  your  Lady  Paramount,  of  your  late  master, 
and  of  me.  Galors  de  Born,  the  arch-enemy,  is 
skulking  in  his  strong  tower,  not  daring  to  attack 
us.  Men  of  Wanmeeting,  we  will  go  and  bait 
him,  Hauterive  is  ours.  Follow  me,  crying, 
Ha !  Saint  James  !  " 

"  Ha !  Saint  James  !  "  shouted  the  men,  with 
their  caps  pike-high. 

The  Bailiif  glowed  in  his  skin.  He  drew  his 
sword. 

"  Forward  !  "  He  gave  the  word. 

The  entire  ardent  garrison  marched  out  of  the 
town,  and  Wanmeeting  was  left  with  its  women 
and  elders,  anybody's  capture. 

The  consequence  of  these  heroical  attitudes 
was  that  Prosper,  riding  hard  to  Hauterive,  came 
in  sight  of  a  besieging  army  round  about  it — a 
tented  field,  a  pavilion,  wherefrom  drooped  the 
saltire  of  De  Forz,  a  long  line  of  attack,  in  fine, 
a  notable  scheme  of  offence.  He  saw  a  sortie 
from  the  gates  driven  back  by  as  mettlesome 
a  cavalry  charge  as  he  could  have  wished  to  lead. 

"The  Bailiff  of  Wanmeeting,  as  I  live  by 
bread !  "  he  cried  out. 

He  stayed  for  some  time  watching  the  fray 
from  a  little  rising  ground.  The  cavalry,  having 
beaten  in  the  defenders,  retired  in  good  order;  the 
archers  advanced  to  cover  a  party  of  pikemen 
with  scaling-ladders. 

"  Now  is  my  time  to  board  the  Bailiff,"  said 
Prosper,  and  rode  coolly  across  the  field. 

The  High  Bailiff  saw,  as  he  thought,  Galors 
himself  riding  unattended  towards  him. 

"  Ha  !  negotiations,"  said  he ;  "  and  in  person ! 


3i8  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

I  have  hit  a  mark  it  seems.  I  may  take  a  high 
tone.  Unconditional  surrender  and  all  arms, 
hey?" 

Prosper  rode  up,  saluting. 

"Messire  de  Born,"  said  the  Bailiff. 

"  Prosper  le  Gai,"  said  the  other. 

"  Madam  Virgin !  I  thought  you  had  perished, 
Messire." 

"  Not  at  all,  Bailiff.  Was  that  why  you  took 
over  my  command  ? " 

The  Bailiff  bowed.  "I  gladly  relinquish  it, 
Messire." 

Prosper  nodded  pleasantly. 

"  That  last  charge  of  yours  could  hardly  have 
been  bettered,  though  I  think  you  might  have 
got  in.     How  many  men  did  you  drop  ?  " 

"  Ten,  Messire.    We  brought  off  the  wounded." 

"Ten  is  enough.  You  shall  lose  no  more. 
Call  off  that  scaling  party." 

The  Bailiff  repeated  the  order. 

"  Your  men  know  their  work,"  said  Prosper ; 
**  but  why  do  they  cry  for  Saint  James?  " 

The  High  Bailiff  coloured. 

"  Well,  Messire,"  he  said,  "  there  is  undoubt- 
edly a  Saint  James,  an  Apostle  and  a  great  Saint." 

"Of  the  greatest,"  said  Prosper.  "But,  par- 
don. I  thought  your  burgh  was  devoted  to 
Saint  Crispin  ? " 

"Messire,  it  is  so.  But  there  were  reasons. 
First,  your  battle-cry  should  be  familiar " 

"  As  Saint  Crispin  to  Wanmeeting  ?  " 

"As  the  name  of  James,  Messire.  For  it  is 
my  own  poor  name." 

"  Ah,"  said  Prosper,  "  I  begin  to  see." 


'HA!  SAINT  JAMES!'  319 

"  Then,"  said  the  BaihfF,  pursuing  his  reasons, 
"  a  battle-cry  should  be  short,  of  one  syllable " 

"  Like  Saint  Dennis  ?  "  Prosper  asked. 

"  Like  Saint  George,  Messire." 

''  Or  Saint  Andrew  ?  "  said  Prosper  sweetly. 

"  Or " 

"  Or  Montjoy,  or  Bide  the  Time,  eh,  Bailiff? " 

"  Messire,  you  have  me  at  a  disadvantage  for 
the  moment.  The  name  is,  however,  that  of  a 
Saint." 

"  Say  no  more.  Bailiff,  but  listen.  There  need 
be  no  more  bloodshed  over  this  place.  Get  your 
men  together,  to  advance  at  a  signal  from  within. 
I  will  go  alone  into  the  town.  Now,  do  you 
notice  that  little  square  window  in  the  citadel? 
When  you  see  the  Saltire  hang  there  you  will 
march  in  and  meet  me  at  the  Bishop's  Gate." 

"  Oh,  Messire,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  Prosper  said,  as  he  rode  off. 

He  rode  close  to  the  moat  and  kept  by  it, 
making  a  half  circuit  of  the  walls.  He  had 
calculated  on  Galors  armour,  and  calculated 
well,  for  nobody  molested  him  from  the  defender's 
side.  At  the  Bishop's  Gate  he  reined  up,  and 
stood  with  his  spear  erect  at  the  length  of  his 
arm. 

"  Who  comes  ?  "  cried  the  sentry. 
" Entra  per  me"  growled  Prosper,  with  a  shot 
for  Galors'  sulky  note. 

The  gate  swung  apart,  the  bridge  fell,  the 
portcullis  was  drawn  up.  Prosper  rode  through 
the  streets  of  Hauterive  amid  the  silence  of  the 
inhabitants  and  the  cheers  of  the  garrison — two 
very  different  sets  of  persons.     He  went  into  the 


320  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

citadel,  displayed  the  appointed  signal,  then 
returned  on  horseback  to  the  Bishop's  Gate. 
He  had  not  a  word  to  say,  but  this  was  quite  in 
character.     So  he  stood  waiting. 

There  was  presently  a  fine  commotion  at  the 
gate ;  a  man  came  running  up  to  him. 

"  Messire,  they  are  going  to  attack  the  gate !  " 

"Open  it,"  said  Prosper. 

"  Messire  ? " 

"  Open  it,  hound  !  " 

The  man  reeled,  but  carried  the  order.  Prosper 
rode  stately  out ;  and  when  he  returned  a  second 
time  it  was  at  the  head  of  the  Countess  Isabel's 
troops. 

"  Bailiff,"  said  he,  when  they  were  in  the 
citadel  and  all  the  news  out,  "  I  am  no  friend  of 
your  mistress,  as  you  know;  but  I  am  not  a 
thief.  Hauterive  is  hers.  To-morrow  morning 
I  shall  declare  it  so ;  until  then  Galors,  if  you 
please,  is  Lord.  Let  me  now  say  this,"  he  con- 
tinued. ''  I  admire  you  because  you  have  a  high 
heart.  But  you  lack  one  requisite  of  generalship, 
as  it  appears  to  me.  You  have  no  head.  Get 
back  at  once  to  Wanmeeting  with  one  thousand 
of  your  men,  and  leave  me  five  hundred  of  them 
to  work  with.  You  may  think  yourself  lucky  if 
you  find  one  stone  on  another  or  one  man's  wife 
as  she  should  be.  By  the  time  you  are  there 
you  will  no  doubt  have  orders  from  High 
March.  You  may  send  news  thither  that  this 
place  is  quiet  and  restored,  as  from  to-morrow 
morning,  to  its  allegiance.  Good  morning, 
Bailiff." 

The  Bailiff  was  very  much  struck  with  Prosper's 


♦HA!    SAINT   JAMES!  321 

sagacity,  and  went  at  once.     Prosper  and  his  five 
hundred  men  held  the  citadel. 

He  confided  his  secret  to  those  whom  he  could 
trust ;  the  remainder  fraternized  in  the  wine  shops 
and  dealt  liberally  in  surmise.  The  general 
opinion  seemed  to  be  that  Galors  had  married 
the  Countess  Isabel. 

#  *  *  #  * 

Having  thus  ridded  him  of  all  his  charges, 
Prosper  could  steer  the  ship  of  his  mind  whither 
his  soul  had  long  looked — to  Isoult  and  marriage. 
Marriage  was  become  a  holy  thing,  a  holy 
sepulchre  of  peace  to  be  won  at  all  costs.  No 
crusader  was  he,  mind  you,  fighting  for  honour, 
but  a  pitiful  beaten  wayfarer  longing  for  ease  from 
his  aching.  He  did  not  seek,  he  did  not  know, 
to  account  for  the  change  in  him.  It  had  come 
slowly.  Slowly  the  girl  had  transfigured  before 
him,  slowly  risen  from  below  him  to  the  level  of 
his  eyes ;  and  now  she  was  above  him.  He 
shrined  her  high  as  she  had  shrined  him,  but  for 
different  reasons  as  became  a  man.  What  a 
woman  loves  in  man  is  strength,  what  a  man 
loves  in  women  is  also  strength,  the  strength  of 
weak  things.  The  strength  of  the  weak  thing 
Isoult  had  been  that,  she  had  known  how  to  hold 
him  off  because  of  her  love's  sake.  There  is 
always  pity  (which  should  become  reverence)  in 
a  man's  love.  He  had  never  pitied  her  till  she 
fought  so  hard  for  the  holiness  of  her  lover. 

Oddly  enough,  Isoult  loved  him  the  more 
for  the  very  attack  which  she  had  foiled.  Odd 
as  it  may  be,  that  is  where  the  truth  lies.  As 
for  him,  gratitude  for  what  she  had  endured  for 


322  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

his  sake  might  go  for  nothing.  Men  do  not  feel 
gratitude — they  accept  tribute.  But  if  they  pity, 
and  their  pity  is  quickened  by  knowledge  of  the 
pitiful,  then  they  love.  Her  pleading  lips,  her 
dear  startled  eyes  stung  him  out  of  himself.  And 
then  he  found  out  why  her  eyes  were  startled  and 
why  her  lips  were  mute.  She  was  lovely.  Yes, 
for  she  loved.  This  beseeching  child,  then,  loved 
him.  He  knew  himself  homeless  now  until  she 
took  him  in. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    CHAINED    VIRGIN    OF    SAINT    THORN 

The  Abbot  Richard  of  Malbank  Saint  Thorn 
went  hunting  the  deer  in  Morgraunt  with  a  good 
company  of  prickers  and  dogs.  In  Spenshaw 
he  unharboured  a  stag,  and  he  followed  him  hard. 
The  hart  made  straight  for  Thornyhold  Brush 
where  the  great  herd  lay;  there  Mellifont,  who 
was  sentry  for  the  time,  heard  him  and  gave  the 
alarm.  Fern  brakes  will  hide  man  from  man,  but 
here  were  dogs.  The  hunted  hart  drove  sheer 
into  the  thicket  on  his  way  to  the  water ;  a  dog 
was  at  his  heels,  half-a-dozen  more  were  hard  on 
him.  The  herd  had  scattered  on  all  hands  long 
before  this.  Mellifont  saved  herself  with  them, 
but  Belvisee  tarrying  to  help  Isoult  was  caught. 
A  great  hound  snapped  at  her  as  he  passed  ;  she 
limped  away  with  a  wounded  side.  Isoult,  too 
much  of  a  woman  and  too  httle  of  a  hind,  stood 
still.     She  had  cloSed  with  Fate  before. 

Up  came  the  Abbot's  men  with  horns  and 
shouting  voices  for  the  baying  of  the  deer.  He, 
brave  beast,  was  knifed  in  the  brook  and  broken 
up,  the  dogs  called  off  and  leashed.  Then  one 
of  the  huntsmen  saw  Isoult.  She  had  let  down 
her  hair  for  a  curtain  and  stood  watching  them 

323 


324  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

intently,  neither  defiant  nor  fearful,  but  with  a  long, 
steady,  unwinking  gaze.  Her  bosom  rose  quick 
and  short,  there  was  no  other  stressful  sign ;  she 
was  flushed  rather  than  white.  One  of  the  men 
thought  she  was  a  wood-girl  —  they  all  knew 
of  such  beings;  he  crossed  himself.  Another 
knew  better.  Her  mother  Maid  was  a  noted 
witch ;  he  whistled.  A  third  thought  she  was 
uncommonly  handsome;  he  could  only  look. 
The  dogs  whimpered  and  tugged  at  the  leash ; 
they  doubtless  knew  that  there  was  blood  in  her. 
So  all  waited  till  the  Abbot  came  up  much  out  of 
breath. 

Isoult,  cloaked  in  her  panoply  of  silence,  saw 
him  first.  In  fact  the  Abbot  had  eyes  only  for 
the  dead  hart  which  had  led  him  such  a  race. 
One  of  the  prickers  ran  forward  and  caught  at  his 
stirrup-leather. 

"  Lord  Abbot,  here  is  the  strangest  thing  my 
eyes  have  ever  seen  in  Morgraunt.  As  we  fol- 
lowed the  chase  we  drove  into  a  great  herd  which 
ran  this  way  and  that  way.  And  in  the  thick  of 
the  deer  were  three  young  women  scantily  attired, 
as  the  one  you  see  yonder,  going  with  ,the  beasts. 
Of  whom  two  have  got  clear  (one  bitten  by  the 
mouse-coloured  hound),  and  this  one  remains 
speechless.  And  who  the  others  were,  whether 
flesh  and  blood  or  wind  and  breath,  I  cannot  tell 
you ;  but  if  this  laggard  is  not  Isoult,  whom  we 
call  La  Desirous,  Matt-o'-the-Moor's  daughter, 
I  am  no  fit  serv^ant  for  your  Holiness'  diversions." 

The  Abbot  had  pricked  up  his  ears ;  now  he 
looked  sharply  at  Isoult. 

"  You  are  right,  Sweyn,"  he  said ;  "leave  her  to 


THE   VIRGIN   OF  SAINT  THORN         J25 

me.  Girl,"  he  turned  to  her,  "  this  time  it  shall 
likely  go  hard  with  thee.  Trees  are  plenty  and 
ropes  easy  to  come  by.  I  warned  thee  before. 
I  shall  not  warn  thee  now." 

Isoult  bowed  her  head. 

"  What  dost  thou  do  here,  herding  in  the  wood 
with  wild  beasts  ?  "  he  went  on. 

"  Lord,  none  but  the  beasts  will  give  me  food 
or  rest  or  any  kindness  at  all.  There  is  no  pity 
in  man  nor  woman  that  I  have  seen,  save  in  two, 
and  one  is  dead.  Prosper  le  Gai,  my  lord  and 
husband,  hath  pity,  and  will  come  to  me  at  last. 
And  whether  he  shall  come  to  my  body  alone  or 
my  spirit  alone,  he  will  come.  And  now,  lord, 
hang  me  to  a  tree." 

"  Dost  thou  want  to  be  hanged  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nay,  lord,  I  am  too  young  to  be  hanged," 
she  said.  "  Moreover,  though  I  am  wedded  to 
my  lord,  I  am  not  a  wife.  For  only  lately  he  hath 
loved  me,  and  that  since  we  were  put  apart." 

"  Wed,  and  a  virgin,  girl  ?  Where  is  thy 
husband  } " 

"  Lord,  he  is  searching  for  me." 

"  Where  hath  he  been,  what  hath  he  done — 
or  thou,  what  hast  thou  done,  for  such  a  droll 
fate  as  this  r  " 

Isoult  very  simply  told  him  everything.  Of 
Galors  he  already  had  some  news — enough  to 
dread  more.  But  when  he  heard  that  the  girl 
had  actually  been  in  High  March  Castle,  had 
been  expelled  from  it,  he  crossed  himself  and 
thanked  God  for  all  His  mercies.  He  became  a 
devout  Christian  at  this  critical  point  in  Isoult's 
career,  whereby   her   neck  was  saved   a  second 


326  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

time  from  the  rope.  He  felt  a  certain  pity — she 
a  handsome  girl,  too,  though  his  type  for  choice 
was  blonde — for  her  simpUcity,  and,  as  he  cer- 
tainly wished  to  obtain  mercy,  reflected  upon  the 
possible  blessings  of  the  merciful.  Besides, 
Galors  was  at  large,  Galors  who  knew  the  story, 
to  say  nothing  of  Prosper,  also  at  large,  who  did 
not  know  the  story,  but  did  know,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  Countess  Isabel.  Difficult  treading! 
But  so  the  habits  of  a  hfetime  for  once  chimed 
in  with  its  professions.  Even  as  he  stood  pitying 
he  roughed  out  another  set  of  shifts.  Prosper 
and  his  unconsummated  marriage  might  be  set 
aside  —  the  fool,  he  thought  with  a  chuckle, 
deserved  it.  There  remained  Galors.  He  would 
get  the  girl  married  to  a  mesne  of  the  abbey,  or 
stay !  he  would  marry  her  elsewhere  and  get  a 
dowry.  She  had  filled  out  astonishingly,  every 
line  of  her  spoke  of  blood :  there  would  be  no 
trouble  about  a  dowry.  Then  he  might  supplant 
Galors  by  being  beforehand  with  him  at  the 
Countess's  ear.  Gratitude  of  the  mother,  grati- 
tude of  the  daughter,  gratitude  of  the  son-in-law ! 
Thus  Charity  walked  hand-in-hand  with  Policy. 
The  girl  was  a  beauty.  What  a  picture  she 
made  there,  short-frocked,  flushed  and  loose- 
haired,  like  an  amazon — but,  by  Mars,  not 
maimed  like  an  amazon.  The  Abbot  was  a 
connoisseur  of  women,  as  became  a  confessor  and 
man  of  the  world. 

"  If  I  do  not  hang  thee,  Isoult,  wilt  thou  come 
with  me  to  Saint  Thorn  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lord,  I  will  come." 

"Up   with    you    then    before    me,"    said   the 


THE  VIRGIN  OF  SAINT  THORN         327 

Abbot,  and  stooped  to  lift  her.  Her  hair  fell 
back  as  she  was  swung  into  the  saddle.  "  My 
lady,"  thought  the  Abbot,  "  it  is  clear  you  are 
no  Amazon;  but  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  wear  round  that  fine  Uttle  neck  of  yours." 

He  bided  his  time,  and  sent  the  men  and  dogs 
on  ahead.  Then  at  starting  he  spurred  his  horse 
so  that  the  beast  plunged  both  his  riders  forward. 
The  burden  of  the  chain  slipt  its  harbourage, 
and  the  next  minute  the  Abbot  had  ring  and 
locket  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

*'  What  is  this  ring,  my  girl  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  lord,  it  is  my  wedding-ring,  wherewith  I 
was  wed  in  the  cottage." 

"Ah,  is  that  it?  Well,  I  will  keep  it  until 
there  is  need." 

Isoult  began  to  cry  at  this,  which  cut  her 
deeper  than  all  the  severances  she  had  known. 
She  could  confess  to  the  ring. 

"Don't  cry,  child,"  said  the  Abbot,  whom 
women's  tears  troubled;  "believe  me  when  I 
say  that  you  shall  have  it  for  your  next 
wedding." 

"  Oh,  my  ring !  my  ring  !  What  shall  I  do  ? 
It  is  all  I  have.     Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord  1 " 

This  pained  the  Abbot  extremely.  He  got 
what  satisfaction  there  was  from  the  thought 
that,  having  dropt  it  behind  him,  he  could  not 
give  it  back  for  all  the  tears  in  the  world.  He 
was  busy  now  examining  the  other  token — a 
crystal  locket  whereon  were  a  pelican  in  piety 
circled  with  a  crown  of  thorns,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  letters  I  and  F  interlaced.  He  knew  it 
better  than  most  people. 


328  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Isoult,  stop  crying,"  he  said.  "  Take  off 
this  chain  and  locket  and  give  them  to  me." 

So  she  did. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  she  pleaded  as  she  tendered, 
"  I  ask  only  for  the  ring." 

"  Plague  take  the  ring,"  cried  the  Abbot  very 
much  annoyed.  "  I  will  throw  it  away  if  you 
say  another  word  about  it." 

The  threat  chilled  her.  She  dried  her  eyes, 
hoping  against  hope,  for  even  hope  needs  a 
sign. 

When  he  had  his  prize  safe  in  Holy  Thorn, 
the  Abbot  Richard,  who  had  a  fantastic  twist 
in  him,  and  loved  to  do  his  very  rogueries  in 
the  mode,  set  himself  to  embroider  his  projects 
when  he  should  have  been  executing  them.  His 
lure  was  a  good  lure,  but  she  would  be  none  the 
worse  for  a  little  gilding  ;  there  must  be  a  pretty 
cage,  with  a  spice  of  malice  in  its  devising,  to 
excite  the  tenderer  feelings.  It  should  be  polite 
malice,  however  —  a  mere  hint  at  a  possible 
tragedy  behind  a  smirk. 

He  dressed  her  in  green  silk  because  she  was 
fresh-coloured  and  had  black  hair.  If  she  had 
been  pale,  as  when  he  first  knew  her,  and  as  she 
was  to  be  again  before  he  knew  her  no  more, 
the  dress  would  have  been  red,  depend  upon  it. 
He  put  a  gold  ring  on  her  finger,  a  jewel  on  her 
forehead,  a  silver  mirror  and  a  Book  of  Hours 
bound  in  silver  leaves  to  swing  at  her  girdle. 
Her  chamber  was  hung  with  silk  arras, — the 
loving  history  of  Aristotle  and  a  princess  of 
Cyprus ; — she  had  two  women  to  wait  upon  her, 
to  tire  her  hair  in  new  ways  and  set  new  crowns 


THE   VIRGIN   OF   SAINT   THORN 


329 


upon  it ;  she  had  a  close  garden  of  her  own,  with 
roses  and  a  fountain,  grass  lawns,  peacocks.  She 
had  pages  to  serve  her  kneeling,  musical  instru- 
ments, singing  boys  and  girls.  He  gave  her  a 
lap-dog.     Finally  he  kissed  her  and  said — 

"  You  are  to  be  queen  of  this  place,  Isoult  the 
much-desired." 

All  this  the  Abbot  did.  This  also  he  did — his 
crowning  piece.  He  caused  her  to  wear  round 
her  waist  a  girdle  made  of  bright  steel  in  which 
was  a  staple.  To  the  staple  he  fixed  a  fine  steel 
chain — a  toy,  a  mimicry  of  prisons,  but  in  fact 
a  chain — and  the  other  end  of  a  chain  was  fixed 
to  a  monk's  wrist.  The  chain  was  fine  and 
flexible,  it  was  long,  it  could  go  through  the  key- 
hole— and  did — but  it  was  a  chain.  Wherever 
the  girl  went,  to  the  garden,  to  table,  to  music, 
to  bed,  abroad,  or  to  Mass,  she  was  chained  to 
a  monk  and  a  monk  to  her.  The  Abbot  Richard 
rested  on  the  seventh  day,  contemplating  his 
labours  with  infinite  relish.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  this  was  to  be  politic  with  an  air.  So  far 
as  he  might  he  did  everything  in  that  manner. 

Isoult  bore  the  burden  much  as  she  had  borne 
the  thwackings  of  the  charcoal-burners,  with 
ingrained  patience.  Seriously,  one  only  cross 
fretted  her — the  loss  of  her  ring.  This  indeed 
cried  desertion  upon  her.  Prosper  had  never 
seemed  so  far,  nor  his  love  so  faint  and  ill-assured. 
It  would  seem  that  kindness  really  killed  her  by 
drugging  her  spirit  as  with  anodyne.  As  she  had 
fallen  at  Gracedieu,  so  she  fell  now  into  a  languid 
habit  where  tears  swam  in  flood  about  the  lids 
of  her  eyes,  where  the  eyes  were  too  heavy  for 


330  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

clear  sight  and  the  very  blood  sluggish  with 
sorrow.  She  grew  pale  again,  hollow-eyed, 
diaphanous — a  prism  for  an  unearthly  ray.  Her 
beauty  took  on  its  elfin  guise ;  she  walked  a 
ghost.  Night  and  day  she  felt  for  the  ring; 
though  she  knew  it  was  not  there,  her  hand 
was  always  in  her  vest,  her  bosom  always  numb 
and  cold.  Sometimes  her  urgent  need  was  more 
than  she  could  bear.  A  trembling  took  her, 
an  access  of  trembling  which  she  could  not 
check.  At  such  times,  if  others  were  about 
her,  she  would  sit  vacant  and  speechless,  smiling 
faintly  for  courtesy  ;  her  eyes  would  brim  over, 
the  great  drops  fall  unchecked.  There  would 
be  no  sobbing,  very  little  catching  of  the  breath. 
The  well  of  misery  would  fill  and  overflow, 
gently  and  smoothly  irresistible.  Then  the 
shaking  would  cease  and  the  fount  be  dry  for 
a  season.  So  she  grew  more  a  spirit  and  less  a 
maid ;  her  eyes  waxed  larger,  and  the  pupils 
whelmed  the  grey  in  jet. 

The  people  of  Malbank  frankly  took  her  for 
a  saint.  Martyrs,  virgins,  and  such  rare  birds 
do  not  hop  in  every  cage ;  but  what  more  reason- 
able than  that  the  famous  Abbot  of  Saint  Thorn 
should  catch  one  in  his  own  springes  ?  Those 
who  maintained  that  the  chained  white  creature, 
who  knelt  folded  at  the  Mass,  or  on  a  white 
palfrey  rode  out  on  the  heath  guarded  by  two 
monks,  was  the  stormy  girl  who  had  kept  swine 
about  the  middens,  Matt's  bad  daughter  Isoult 
la  Desirous,  those  were  leagued  with  the  devil 
and  his  imps,  who  would  not  see  a  saint  if  all 
heaven  walked  the  earth. 


THE    VIRGIN   OF  SAINT   THORN         331 

The  report  fell  in  excellently  with  the  Abbot's 
calculation.  No  one  believed  in  the  Isoult  fable 
save  Maid,  whom  the  girl  had  seen  once  or  twice, 
and  himself;  every  one  talked  rather  of  the 
chained  virgin  of  Saint  Thorn.  She  became  an 
object  of  pilgrimage.  The  Abbot  grew  to  call 
her  chamber  the  feretory ;  the  faithful  gave 
alms,  particularly  the  seamen  from  Wanmouth. 
Then  others  came  to  behold,  more  to  his  liking, 
proposing  barter.  She  was  observed  of  the 
Lord  of  Hartlepe,  the  young  Lord  of  Broken- 
bridge,  the  Lord  of  Courthope  Saint  James ;  of 
the  Baron  of  Starning  and  Parrox,  also,  from 
the  East  Demesne.  This  Baron  Malise,  thin 
and  stooping,  having  Prospers  quick  eyes  with- 
out his  easy  lordship  over  all  who  met  them, 
and  Prosper's  high  voice  twisted  querulous,  came 
to  view  his  young  brother's  v>'ife.  She  pleased, 
but  the  price  did  not  please.  He  and  the  Abbot 
haggled  over  the  dowry ;  Malise,  as  obstinate  as 
Prosper,  would  not  budge.  So  they  haggled. 
Finally  came  Galors  de  Born,  Lord  of  Hauteriv^e 
and  many  other  places  in  the  north,  not  to  be 
denied. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

'  ENTRA    PER    ME  ' 

When  Galors  overshot  his  mark  in  Thorny- 
hold  he  flew  very  wide.  It  is  well  known  there 
are  no  roads.  Thornyhold  is  but  the  beginning 
of  the  densest  patch  of  timber  in  all  the  forest. 
Malbank  is  your  nearest  habitation ;  Spenshaw, 
Heckaby,  Dunsholt  Thicket,  Hartshold,  Deerleap 
are  forest  names,  not  names  of  the  necessities  of 
men.  You  may  wander  a  month  if  you  choose, 
telling  one  green  hollow  from  another ;  or  you 
may  go  to  Holy  Thorn  at  Malbank,  or  endure 
unto  Wanmouth  and  the  sea.  If  you  were 
Galors  and  needed  counsel  you  would  not  choose 
the  wood ;  naturally  you  would  avoid  Malbank. 
There  would  remain  to  you  Wanmouth. 

Galors  went  to  Wanmouth.  It  was  the 
Countess's  country  of  course ;  but  his  disguise 
was  good  enough.  People  read  the  arms  and 
hailed  a  Le  Gai  or  one  of  that  house.  It  was  at 
Wanmouth  that  he  learned  what  he  wanted. 
Malise,  after  one  of  his  interminable  chafferings 
with  the  Abbot  Richard,  took  it  on  his  way  to 
the  east. 

"  My  Lord  Baron  of  Starning,"  said  the  Vice- 
332 


'ENTRA   PER   ME'  333 

Admiral  of  the  port,  "  we  have  had  a  friend  of 
your  house  here  a  week  or  more." 

"  Eh,  eh !  "  said  Malise,  feeHng  his  pocket, 
"  what  does  the  rogue  want  with  his  friendship  ? 
I'm  as  poor  as  a  rat.     Who  is  he  ? " 

"  Oh,  for  that,"  replied  the  other,  "  he  seems  a 
great  lord  in  his  way,  wears  your  blazon,  is  free 
with  his  money,  and  he  swears  like  a  Fleming." 

"  Bring  him  to  me,  Admiral,  bring  him  to  me. 
I  shall  like  this  man." 

So  Galors  was  brought  in,  to  be  graciously  re- 
ceived by  the  head  of  the  house  of  Gai.  His  blunt 
manner  deceived  Malise  at  once.  In  his  experi- 
ence people  who  wanted  to  borrow  dealt  differently. 
Here  was  a  lofty  soul,  who  might,  on  the  other 
hand,  be  guided  to  lend  !  In  the  course  of  a 
long  conversation  Malise  unbosomed.  He  was 
newly  a  lover  and  liked  the  part.  The  Baron 
ended  his  confession  thus — 

"  So,  my  dear  friend,  you  see  how  it  is 
with  me.  I  have  never  met  you  before — the 
more's  the  pity.  I  accept  your  civilities,  but 
I  make  no  promises — you  know  our  legend  ? 
Well,  I  bide  my  time — he — he  !  No  boasting, 
but  upon  my  honour,  my  reputation  does  not 
make  me  out  ungrateful.  I  say  to  you,  go  to 
Malbank ;  observe,  watch,  judge,  then  report 
to  me.  The  detail  I  leave  to  you.  I  should 
recommend  a  disguise.  The  place  has  become 
one  of  pilgrimage — go  as  a  pilgrim  !  You  will 
see  whether  the  prize  is  worth  my  while.  I  am 
sure  you  have  taste — I  know  it.  Observe, 
report.     Then  we  will  act." 

*'  Ravishment  of  ward  ?  "  asked  Galors  dryly. 


334  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

"  Ward  !  She  is  not  his  ward.  How  can  she 
be  ?  Who  is  she  ?  Nobody  knows.  The  thing 
is  a  crying  scandal,  my  dear  friend.  A  woman 
in  an  abbey  parlour !  An  alcove  at  Holy  Thorn  ! 
Are  we  Mohammedans,  infidels,  Jews  of  the  Old 
Law  ?     Fie  !  " 

"  You  do  not  know  her  name,  Baron  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  Chained  Virgin  of  Saint  Thorn,  I 
tell  you.  She  has  no  other  name.  She  sits  in  a 
throne  in  choir,  pale  as  milk,  with  burning  grey 
eyes  as  big  as  passion-flowers !  She  is  a  chained 
Andromeda  on  the  rock  of  Peter.  Be  my 
Perseus ! " 

"  Hum,"  said  Galors,  half  to  himself,  "  hum  ! 
Yes,  I  will  go  at  once." 

"  My  dear  friend " 

"  Not  a  word  more.  Baron.  Go  home  to 
Starning,  go  where  you  like,  and  wait.  If  you 
see  me  again  the  lady  will  be  with  me." 

*'  You  shall  not  find  me  ungrateful,  I  promise," 
cried  Malise,  going  out. 

"  Damn  your  gratitude,"  said  Galors,  when  the 
door  was  shut. 

A  mortified  Perseus  in  drab  cloak  and  slouch 
hat,  he  went  to  Malbank  next  day  and  verified 
his  prognosis.  The  Abbot  sang  Mass,  his  old 
colleagues  huddled  in  choir ;  the  place  echoed 
with  the  chastened  snuffling  he  knew'^so  well. 
Galors  had  no  sentiment  to  pour  over  them. 
Standing,  bowing,  genuflecting,  signing  himself 
at  the  bidding  of  the  bell,  he  had  no  eyes  for  any 
but  the  frail  apparition  whose  crown  of  black 
seemed  to  weigh  her  toward  the  pavement.  The 
change  wrought  in  her  by  a  year's  trafflc  might 


'ENTRA  PER   ME'  33^ 

have  shocked,  as  the  eyes  might  have  haunted 
him  ;  but  she  was  nothing  but  a  symbol  by  now. 
A  frayed  ensign,  she  stood  for  an  earldom  and  a 
fee.  The  time  had  been  when  her  beauty  had 
bewitched  him  ;  that  was  when  she  went  flesh  and 
blood,  sun-browned,  full  of  the  sap  of  untamed 
desires.  Now  she  was  a  ghost  with  a  dowry  ; 
stricken,  but  holding  a  fief. 

He  judged  the  chain,  the  time,  the  place,  the 
chances.  He  had  three  men.  It  was  enough. 
Next  Sunday  he  would  act.  Then  for  the  forest 
roads  and  High  March ! 

That  next  Sunday  was  Lammas  Day  and  a 
solemn  feast.  All  Malbank  was  in  the  nave,  a 
beaten  and  weather-scarred  bundle  of  drabs 
packed  in  one  corner  under  the  great  vaulting 
ribs.  Within  the  dark  aisles  the  chapels  gloomed, 
here  and  there  a  red  lamp  made  darkness  darker ; 
but  the  high  altar  was  a  blaze  of  lights.  The 
faces,  scared  or  sharp-set,  of  the  worshippers 
fronted  the  glory  open-mouthed,  but  all  dull. 
Hunger  makes  a  bad  altar-flame ;  when  it  burns 
not  sootily  it  fires  the  fabric. 

Afterwards  came  something  which  they  under- 
stood— IsDult  between  her  two  women,  the  monk 
behind.  A  girl  chained  by  the  middle  to  a  monk 
— Oh,  miracle  !  She  sat  very  still  in  her  carved 
chair,  folding  her  patient  hands.  So  thin,  so 
frail,  so  transparent  she  was,  they  thought  her 
pure  spirit,  a  whisp  of  gossamered  breath,  or  one 
of  those  gauzy  sublimations  which  the  winter  will 
make  of  a  dead  leaf.  The  cowed  audience  watched 
her  wonderfully ;  some  of  the  women  snivelled. 
The  white  monks,  the  singing  boys,  the  banners 


336  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

and  tapers,  Ceremoniar,  Deacon,  Subdeacon,  the 
vested  Abbot  himself,  passed  like  a  shining  cloud 
through  the  nave.  All  their  light  came  from  the 
Chained  Virgin  of  Saint  Thorn.  And  then  the 
Mass  began. 

There  was  a  ring  of  hoofs  outside,  but  no  one 
looked  round,  and  none  came  in.  A  shadow  fell 
across  the  open  door.  At  a  Dominus  Fobiscum 
you  might  have  seen  the  ministrant  falter ;  there 
might  have  been  a  second  or  two  of  check  in  his 
chant,  but  he  mastered  it  without  effort,  and 
turned  again  with  displayed  hands  to  his  affair. 
The  choir  of  white  hoods,  however,  watched  the 
shadow  at  the  west  door.  Isoult  saw  nothing 
and  heard  nothing ;  she  was  kneeling  at  prayer. 
It  may  be  doubted  if  any  prayed  but  the  girl  and 
the  priest. 

The  holy  office  proceeded ;  the  Sanctus  bell 
shrilled  for  the  first  time.  Hoofs  shattered 
scandalously  on  the  flags,  and  Galors,  with  an 
armed  man  on  either  hand  of  him,  rode  into  the 
nave.  The  choir  rose  in  a  body,  the  nave  hud- 
dled ;  Isoult,  as  she  believed,  saw  Prosper,  spear, 
crest,  and  shield.  Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap, 
then  stood  still.  Perhaps  there  was  a  flicker  in 
the  Abbot's  undertone ;  his  lips  may  have  been 
dry ;  but  his  courage  was  beyond  proof.  He 
held  on. 

Isoult  was  blanched  as  a  cloth ;  lips,  fingers  and 
ears,  the  tongue  in  her  open  mouth — all  creeks 
for  the  blood  were  ebbed  dry.  Her  awful  eyes, 
fixed  and  sombre  stars,  threatened  to  gulf  her 
in  their  dark.  Love  was  drowned  in  such  horror 
as  this. 


'ENTRA   PER   ME'  337 

Galors  swung  out  of  the  saddle.  In  the 
breathless  place  the  din  of  that  act  came  like  a 
thunder-peal,  crackling  and  crashing,  like  to 
wreck  the  church.  He  drew  his  sword,  with 
none  to  stay  him,  and  strode  forward.  If  the 
Abbot  Richard  heard  his  step  up  the  choir  the 
man  is  worthy  of  all  memory,  for  he  went  on 
with  his  manual  acts,  and  his  murmur  of  prayer 
never  ceased.  He  may  have  heard  nothing — who 
knows  what  his  motions  were  ?  He  was  a  brave 
man. 

The  bell  rang — rang  again — God  beamed  in 
the  Host.  The  people  wavered,  but  use  held. 
They  bowed  prone  before  God  in  His  flake  of 
new  flesh. 

"  Deus  in  adjutorium,'''  muttered  the  Abbot  to 
himself. 

"  Entra  per  me !  "  thundered  Galors,  and  ran 
him  through  the  body. 

After  the  first  shudder  had  swept  through  the 
church  there  was  no  sound  at  all,  until  some 
woman  hidden  began  a  low  moan,  and  keened  the 
Abbot  Richard.  No  one  dared  to  stir  while  those 
grim  horsemen  in  the  nave  sat  like  rocks. 

Galors  turned  to  Isoult  where  she  froze  rigid  in 
lier  throne,  severed  the  chain  at  a  blow,  and  went 
to  take  her.  Some  sudden  thought  struck  him  ; 
he  turned  her  quickly  round  to  the  light  and 
without  ceremony  fumbled  at  her  neck.  She 
grew  sick  to  feel  him  touch  her. 

"The  Abbot  hath  it."  Her  lips  formed  the 
words.  Galors  went  back  to  the  dead  priest  and 
pulled  off^  chain  and  locket. 

*'Oh,  my  ring,  my  ring!"  whined  the  girl  as 


338  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

he  slipt  the  chain  over  her.  He  did  not  seem  to 
hear  her,  but  snatched  her  up  in  his  arms  as  if 
she  had  been  a  doll  and  set  her  on  his  horse.  He 
swung  himself  into  the  saddle  behind  her  as  he 
had  swung  himself  out  of  it,  reined  up  short 
and  turned.  The  three  men  rode  out  with  their 
burden.  When  they  had  gone  the  Deacon  (who 
got  a  mitre  for  it)  solemnly  laid  the  fallen  host 
between  his  lord's  lips.  The  act,  at  once  pious 
and  sensible,  brought  up  the  congregation  from 
hell  to  earth  again.  At  such  times  routine  is  the 
only  saving  thing. 

Once  free  of  the  Abbey  precincts  the  three 
horsemen  forded  Wan.  At  a  signal  pre-arranged 
one  of  them  fell  back  to  keep  watch  over  the 
river.  Galors  went  forward  with  one  in  his  com- 
pany on  to  the  heath,  dropped  him  after  three  or 
four  hours'  steady  going,  and  rode  on  still.  His 
third  man  was  to  meet  him  at  the  edge  of  Martle 
Brush.  Never  a  word  had  he  spoken  since  his 
great  Entra  per  me;  but  without  that  the  act  had 
been  enough  to  tell  his  prize,  that  whatever  her 
chains  had  been  before,  the  sword-stroke  had 
riveted  them  closer.  There  had  been  no  chain 
like  his  mailed  arm  round  her  body. 

Nothing  could  be  done.  Indeed  she  was  as 
yet  paralyzed ;  for  wild  work  as  had  been  done  in 
her  sight,  this  was  savagery  undreamed.  She 
could  get  no  comfort,  she  never  thought  of 
Prosper.  Even  Prosper,  her  lord,  could  not  stand 
before  such  a  force  as  this.  As  for  good  Saint 
Isidore,  the  pious  man  became  a  shade,  and 
vanished  with  his  Creator  into  the  dark. 

Night  came  on,  but  a  low  yellow  moon  burnt 


ENTRA   PER   ME ' 


339 


the  fringe  of  the  rising  woods.  They  were  retrac- 
ing almost  the  very  stones  of  the  track  she  and 
Prosper  had  followed  a  year  before. 

Matt's  intake  they  passed,  she  saw  a  light  in 
the  window.  The  heath  loomed  ghostly  before 
them,  with  the  dark  bank  of  trees  rising  steadily 
as  they  neared.  Athwart  them  rose  also  the 
moon;  there  was  promise  of  a  fine  still  night. 
They  entered  the  trees,  heading  for  Martle  Brush. 

Suddenly  Galors  pulled  up,  listening  intently. 
There  was  no  sound  save  that  strange  murmur 
the  night  has  (as  if  the  whole  concave  of  heaven 
were  the  hollow  of  a  shell),  and  the  secret  rustling 
of  the  trees.  Still  Galors  listened.  It  was  so 
quiet  you  might  almost  have  heard  two  hearts 
beating. 

As  an  underchant,  sinister  accompaniment  to 
the  voices  of  the  night,  there  came  to  them  the 
muffled  pulsing  of  a  horse's  hoofs ;  a  quick  and 
regular  sound — a  horse  galloping  evenly  with 
plenty  in  hand. 

Both  heard  it.  Galors  drove  in  the  spurs,  and 
the  chase  began.  They  were  yet  a  mile  away 
from  Martle  Brush.  If  they  could  cross  the 
brook  and  gain  the  ridgeway,  it  was  long  odds  on 
their  being  overtaken  that  night. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

' BIDE    THE   time' 

Walking  the  rounds  at  Hauterive  the  night  of 
his  coming  there,  a  man  sprang  out  at  Prosper 
from  a  black  entry  and  stabbed  at  him  between 
the  shoulders.  "  For  the  ravisher  of  Isoult !  " 
was  all  the  message  that  did  not  miscarry,  for 
Galors'  mail  of  proof  stopped  the  rest.  Prosper 
whipt  round  in  an  instant,  but  the  assassin  had 
made  up  the  passage-way.  There  was  a  quick 
chase  through  the  break- neck  lanes  of  the  steep 
little  town,  then  blood  told.  Prosper  ran  his  man 
to  earth  in  a  churchyard.  He  proved  to  be  a  red- 
haired  country  lout,  whose  bandy  legs  had  been 
against  him  in  this  work.  He  asked  for  no 
quarter,  seemed  beside  himself  with  rage. 

"  Friend,"  said  Prosper,  "  you  struck  me  from 
behind.  You  must  have  wished  to  make  very 
sure.      Why  ?  " 

Said  Falve,  "Thou  ravisher,  Galors." 

"  I  cannot  be  called  Galors  to  my  face ;  politics 
may  go  to  the  devil.  Keep  my  secret,  country- 
man ;  I  am  in  Galors'  shell,  but  I  will  be  Galors 
no  more." 

Falve  dropped  on  his  knees.     "Oh,  my  lord, 

my  lord "  he  began  to  cry  out. 

340 


'BIDE  THE  TIME"  341 

*'  Enough  of  lords,"  said  Prosper.  "  Some  of 
them  do  not  very  lordly,  I  grant  you.  Your 
words  touched  me  nearly.  Be  so  good  as  to 
make  yourself  plain.     Who  is  Isoult  ?  " 

"Isoult  la  Desirous,  my  wife,  Mesbire." 

"Your wife!  "  cried  Prosper, grinding  his  teeth. 

"  As  good  as  that,  my  lord.  I  should  have 
married  her  in  the  morning  if  my  mother  hadn't 
played  the  Turk  on  me." 

So  he  had  the  whole  story  out  of  him.  Prosper 
learnt  that  Isoult  had  been  put  in  her  way  to 
safety  by  the  old  woman,  who  immediately  after 
had  made  that  way  the  most  perilous  of  all — with 
the  best  intentions  always. 

"  Master  Falve,  I  am  your  debtor,"  said  Prosper 
at  the  end ;  "  I  wish  you  good  evening." 

"  Messire,  will  you  not  find  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Your  wife  again,  sirrah !  "  cried  he,  turning 
sharply. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  if  you  have  any  ill  will  to 
that- " 

"  I  have  the  greatest  possible  ill-will,  my  man, 
because  she  is  already  my  own." 

*'  Heaven  round  about  us,  was  there  ever  such 
a  married  woman  ! "  cried  poor  Falve,  tearing  his 
hair. 

The  politics  of  a  lady  to  whom,  so  far  as  he 
then  knew,  he  owed  no  service,  held  Prosper  till 
the  morning.  The  rest  of  the  night  he  spent 
walking  the  ramparts.  At  the  first  flutter  of 
hght  he  beat  up  the  garrison,  assembled  the  men 
of  both  parties,  and  declared  himself. 

"  Hauterive  returns  to  its  allegiance,"  said  he. 
"  Conradin   de  Lamport   is  commandant.     The 


342  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

former  garrison  will  deliver  up  all  arms  and  take 
the  oath  of  fealty.  A  declaration  of  hue-and-cry 
is  posted  for  Galors,  with  a  reward  for  his  head. 
In  three  days'  time  the  Countess  will  send  her 
Viceroy  to  claim  the  keys.  Gentlemen,  I  bid 
you  good  morning." 

Conradin  de  Lamport  was  the  name  of  the 
man  who  had  accompanied  him  into  Wanmeeting. 
Prosper  knew  he  was  to  be  trusted.  Then  with 
conscience  cleared  he  mounted  his  horse  and  left 
Hauterive. 

Keeping  a  sharp  look-out  as  he  went,  he  was 
rewarded  by  the  find  of  a  shoe,  glowing  like  a 
crimson  toadstool  in  the  moss.  Not  far  off  were 
its  fellow,  and  a  pair  of  drenched  silk  stockings. 
He  kissed  the  vestiges  of  the  feet  of  Isoult,  hung 
them  to  the  peak  of  the  saddle,  and  forward  again 
like  a  westerly  gale.  After  this  came  a  fault 
which  delayed  him  the  best  part  of  three  days. 
The  deer  were  dumb  animals  for  him,  whose 
business  had  hitherto  been  to  bleed  not  milk 
them.  There  were  deer  feeding  in  the  glades  of 
Thornyhold  ;  but  Belvisee  was  nursing  her  wound 
under  the  oak  by  the  pool,  and  Mellifont  was 
beside  her.  The  deer  snuffed  an  enemy  in  the 
friend  of  their  friend ;  they  gave  him  a  lead 
astray,  which  unconsciously  he  took.  Thus  he 
found  himself,  after  two  days'  aimless  wandering 
and  two  nights'  dreamless  sleep,  on  the  high 
ground  by  Deerleap,  with  the  forest  behind  and 
the  rolling  purple  fells  stretched  out  before  him, 
and  at  last  a  blue  gauzy  ribbon  which  he  knew 
for  the  sea.  Out  of  heart  he  turned  and  beat 
back  to  Thornyhold,  this  time  to  better  purpose. 


'  BIDE  THE  TIME  '  343 

A  rustle  in  the  fern,  a  start,  a  glint  of  the  sun 
on  a  side  not  furry,  a  flash  of  flying  green  and 
russet,  a  streamer  of  hair  like  a  litten  cloud — by 
Heavens,  how  the  brown  girl  ran !  Prosper, 
laughing  but  keen,  gave  chase.  She  led  him  far, 
in  and  out  of  the  oak  stems,  doubling  like  a  hare  ; 
but  he  rode  her  down  by  cutting  off"  the  corners  : 
flushed,  panting  and  wild,  defiant  she  stood,  ready 
to  flinch  at  the  blow. 

Prosper's  horse  was  properly  breathed ;  as  for 
him  he  burst  mto  a  laugh. 

"My  child,  you  bolted  like  a  rabbit.  But  own 
that  I  gave  you  a  good  run." 

"  You  beat  me,"  said  Mellifont. 

"  Well,  and  now  I  am  going  to  do  what  I  like 
with  you." 

"Of  course." 

"  You  must  be  obedient.  Answer  my  question 
now.     Why  did  you  run  ?  " 

"Because  you  came." 

"  Why  did  you  run  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  a  man." 

"  Madam  Virgin,  what  a  prude  1  Did  you 
think  I  should  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Weil,  have  I?" 

"Not  yet." 

"  Look  at  me  now.  Do  I  look  like  hurting 
you  ?  "  He  put  up  his  visor.  The  softest  brown 
eyes  a  girl  can  have  trembled  over  him. 

"  No — o.  Oh  ! "  The  negative  was  drowned 
in  discovery.  Prosper  followed  her  gaze.  He 
held  up  the  red  stockings. 

"  Do  you  know  them,  child  ? " 


344-  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"I  know  to  whom  they  belong.  Are  you 
going  to  hunt  her  i  " 

"  Hunt  her !  I  am  going  to  find  her.  I 
think  she  has  had  hunting  enough,  God  bless 
her." 

"  Yes,  she  has,"  said  Mellifont  gravely. 

Prosper  stooped  in  his  saddle  and  laid  a  hand 
on  her  head. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  love  that  hunted  lady 
beyond  everything  in  the  world ;  I  never  knew 
how  much  until  I  had  lost  her.  But  no  wrong 
will  happen  to  her  till  she  hears  me  tell  her  the 
truth.  If  you  know  anything  you  must  not  hide 
it  from  me." 

Mellifont  peered  up  at  him  through  her  hair. 

*'  Are  you  Prosper  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  am  indeed.  Did  she  speak  to  you 
about  me?" 

"Often." 

"  Is  she — ah,  Lord  of  Hosts !  she  is  not 
here?" 

"No,  not  now.  She  was  here.  Come  with 
me.  But  you  must  leave  your  horse  and  sword 
behind  you." 

Prosper  obeyed  her  without  a  thought.  Mel- 
lifont took  his  hand  and  led  him  to  the  hollow 
under  the  oak.  Belvisee  was  there,  dumbly 
nursing  her  side,  which  a  stooping  hind  was  lick- 
ing when  the  pair  came  up.  Prosper  received 
the  red  robe  and  the  sequins  from  her  hands, 
and  m  time  pieced  the  story  together.  It  cut 
him  to  the  soul. 

"Take  me  to  the  place  where  the  dogs  got 
her,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.     Belvisee  and  Mel- 


'BIDE   THE   TIME'  345 

lifont  led  him  there.  Once  more,  then,  he  wasted 
his  eyes  on  crushed  herbage,  black  fern,  and 
stained  earth  ;  again  loathed  himself  very  heartily 
for  what  he  had  not  done ;  but  in  time  under- 
stood what  he  had  done.  He  turned  deliberately 
to  the  sisters.  "  Belvisee  and  Mellifont,  listen  to 
what  I  shall  tell  you.  There  is  no  strength  like 
a  woman's,  and  no  blindness  like  that  of  a  man. 
For  the  woman  is  strong  because  she  is  blind 
and  cannot  see  the  man  she  loves  as  he  is; 
therefore  she  makes  him  in  her  own  glorious 
image.  But  the  man  is  blind  because  he  is 
strong,  and  because  he  seeth  himself  so  glorious 
that  he  can  abide  no  other  near  him  save  as  a 
servant.  In  that  he  doth  deadly  sin  to  Love, 
because  the  food  of  Love  is  service,  and  he  that 
serves  not  Love  starves  him.  But  the  woman 
feedeth  him  with  her  own  milk ;  so  Love  is  with 
her  till  she  dies.  I,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  have 
learned  what  Love  is,  and  can  feed  him  with 
service.  And  Isoult  la  Desirous  has  taught  me, 
who  is  now  Isoult  la  Desiree." 

Prosper  ceased.  Mellifont  was  crying  on  Bel- 
visce's  shoulder.     The  latter  said — 

"Prosper,  if  all  men  were  like  thee,  we  might 
leave  the  forest  and  dwell  with  them." 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  see  you 
safely  bestowed." 

"  No,  no ;  we  will  stay  where  we  are  known 
and  with  whom  we  know.  All  men  are  not  like 
you." 

"  As  you  must,  it  must  needs  be,"  replied 
Prosper.  He  kissed  each  on  the  cheek,  and 
watched  them  go  hand-in-hand  down  the  glade. 


346  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

The  herd  closed  in  upon  them,  so  neither  he  nor 
the  Argument  knows  them  any  more. 

Prosper  knelt  down  to  pray ;  but  what  he 
found  set  him  to  better  work.  He  found  Isoult's 
wedding-ring. 

"By  God,"  he  cried,  "who  made  men  to 
labour,  I  will  pray  with  my  hands  this  turn ! " 

He  ran  for  his  horse  and  sword.  Courage 
came  with  his  gallop,  courage  and  self-esteem, 
without  which  no  man  ever  did  anything  yet. 
With  self-esteem  returned  sober  thought. 

"  I  can  do  Malbank  in  three  or  four  hours. 
There  is  light  enough  for  what  1  have  to  settle 
there.  I  will  spare  my  horse  and  save  time  in 
the  end.  Meantime  I  will  think  this  affair  out." 
So  said  Prosper  galloping  to  Prosper  on  his  feet, 
the  late  moralist.  His  plan  was  very  simply  to 
confront  the  Abbot  with  his  ring.  If  that  failed 
he  would  scour  his  own  country,  raise  a  troop, 
and  lay  leaguer  on  Saint  Thorn.  He  had  for- 
gotten Galors.  He  was  soon  to  have  a  reminder 
of  that  grim  fighter. 

The  doors  of  the  great  church  stood  open,  so 
Prosper  rode  in.  It  was  cold  and  dark,  and 
smelt  of  death  and  candle-fumes.  The  pilasters 
of  the  nave  were  already  swathed  in  black  velvet ; 
in  the  choir  were  great  lights  set  on  the  floor, 
in  the  midst  of  them  a  bier.  A  priest  was  at  a 
little  altar  by  the  bier's  head,  other  cowled  figures 
crouched  about  it.  There  was  a  low  murmur  of 
praying,  even,  whining,  and  mechanical.  On  the 
bier  Prosper  saw  the  comely  Abbot  Richard 
Dieudonne,  in  cope  and  mitre,  holding  in  his 
hand  the  staff  of  his  high  ofhce.     This  pastor  of 


*BIDE  THE  TIME*  347 

the  Church  was  at  peace ;  the  man  of  the  world 
was  sober  with  access  of  wisdom ;  the  man  of 
modes  smiled  pleasantly  at  his  secret  thoughts. 
Very  handsome,  very  remote,  very  pure  he 
looked ;  for  so  death  purges  off  the  dross  which 
we  work  into  the  good  clay. 

Prosper,  meditative  always  at  the  sight  of 
death,  stood  and  pondered  upon  it.  Everything 
was  well,  no  doubt;  such  things  should  be; 
but  the  indifference  of  the  defunct  seemed 
almost  shocking.  Do  they  not  care  for  decent 
interment  ?     Then  he  turned  to  a  bystander. 

"  You  mourn  for  your  father  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Master^  we  do  indeed.  What !  a  great  lord, 
a  throned  and  pompous  priest,  to  be  felled  like  a 
calf;  his  body  spitted  like  a  lark's  !  No  leave 
asked!  You  may  well  judge  whether  we  mourn. 
I  suppose  there  never  was  such  a  mournful  affair 
since  a  king  died  in  this  country." 

"  Murdered?"  cried  Prosper,  highly  scandalized. 

"  Murdered  by  Prosper  le  Gai  for  the  sake  of 
the  Chained  Virgin." 

"  By  Prosper  le  Gai  ?  " 

"'Tis  so  indeed.  And  well  he  did  his  work, 
if  there's  anything  in  wrist  play.  For  first  he 
spits  the  Abbot,  and  then  he  sunders  the  chain, 
and  next  he  overhauls  the  girl,  and  next  the 
Abbot.  And  he  puts  her  under  his  arm  like  a 
marketable  hen,  and  away  he  gallops  over  the 
heath.     Hot  work !  " 

"  Galors'  work,"  said  Prosper  to  himself  as  he 
turned  away. 

He  prayed  at  three  altars  for  the  man's  soul, 
turned,  mounted,  and  galloped.    He  forded  Wan. 


348  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

A  horseman  met  him  on  the  further  bank,  shout- 
ing. Prosper  lowered  his  head  and  shot  at  him 
as  from  a  catapult.  The  spear  drove  deep,  the 
man  threw  his  arms  out,  sobbed,  and  dropped 
like  a  stone.     Prosper  went  on  his  race. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  he  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  Matt's  intake,  battering  at  the  door. 
The  hag-ridden  face  of  old  Maid  stared  out. 
She  parted  her  tattered  hair  from  her  eyes  and 
pointed  a  shaky  finger  at  him. 

"  Galors,"  she  wailed,  "Galors,  thou  monk 
forsworn,  thinkest  thou  to  have  the  Much- 
Desired  r  No,  but  her  husband  has  her  at  last, 
and  shall  have  her  with  all  that  is  hers — ah, 
though  he  have  done  murder  to  get  her.  Swear 
back,  Galors,  and  pray  for  thy  dead  master." 

Prosper  held  up  his  hand  to  stay  the  tide. 

"  Mother,  I  am  Prosper,  the  husband  of  the 
Much-Desired.  No  murder  have  I  done,  though 
I  have  seen  murder.  And  I  have  not  my  wife ; 
but  I  believe  she  is  with  Galors." 

Old  Maid  came  fawning  out  to  him  at  this, 
and  took  his  hands  in  her  own  trembling  hands. 

"  He  passed  an  hour  agone,"  said  she.  "  He  will 
do  her  no  wrong  till  he  hath  her  at  High  March, 
trust  him  for  that.  And  by  now  he  should  be 
near  Martle,  and  she  before  him  on  the  saddle- 
bow." 

She  began  to  weep  and  wag  her  silly  head. 
Prosper  made  to  go,  having  no  time  to  waste ; 
but,  "Stop,"  she  quavered,  "and  hear  me  out. 
Though  the  Abbot  Richard  was  murdered  at  his 
prayers,  yet  withal  he  got  his  deserts,  for  he 
hatched    a   worse   wrong  than  ever   Galors  did. 


'BIDE  THE  TIME'  349 

The  child  was  chained  by  the  middle,  and  came 
to  me  chained  riding  a  white  palfrey.  In  green 
and  white  she  came,  and  round  her  middle  was  a 
chain,  long  and  supple,  and  a  monk  on  horse- 
back held  the  end  thereof.  She  came  to  me  to 
the  hearth  at  the  length  of  her  chain,  and  held 
me  in  her  dear  arms,  and  kissed  me,  cheeks  and 
forehead.  Down  I  sat  on  my  stool  and  she  on 
the  knees  of  me,  and  she  hid  her  face  on  my  lean- 
ness while  she  spoke  of  you,  my  lord — called  you 
her  dear  heart,  and  told  of  all  the  bitter  longings 
she  had.  Ah,  now !  Ah,  now !  If  you  but 
knew." 

"  God  forgive  me,"  cried  the  lacerated  wretch, 
"  but  I  know  it  all !  Yet  tell  me  what  else  she 
said." 

"  There  was  little  more,"  said  Maid,  "  tor  the 
monk  pulled  at  her,  and  she  went  as  she  came." 

"  Have  they  passed  an  hour  gone  ?  "  said  Prosper 
in  a  dry  whisper. 

"  Ah,  and  more." 

"  God  be  with  you,"  said  he  ;  "  pray  for  her." 

"  Pray  !  "  mocked  the  crone  in  a  rage  ;  "  and 
pray  what  will  that  do  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  I,  mother,  just  now.  God  is 
all  about  us.     Farewell !  " 

And  he  was  gone  amid  flying  peats. 

Midway  of  the  heath  a  second  knight  met 
him,  challenged  him,  and  charged.  Prosper  was 
not  for  small  game  that  night.  His  head  grew 
cooler,  as  always,  for  his  haste,  his  arm  steady  as 
a  rock.  Thereupon  he  ran  his  man  through  the 
breastbone.  He  broke  his  spear,  but  took  the 
other's,  and  away.     At  the  edge  of  the  wood  the 


3^o  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

moon-rays  gleamed  a  third  time  upon  mail.  It 
was  Galors'  last  sentry,  who  hallooed  to  stay  him. 
Prosper  was  on  him  before  he  was  ready,  and 
hurled  him  from  the  saddle.  He  never  moved. 
Prosper  galloped  through  the  wood. 

The  snapping  branches,  thunder  of  hoofs, 
labouring  belly  and  hard-won  breath  of  his  beast, 
more  than  all  the  wind  that  sang  in  his  ears, 
prevented  him  from  hearing  what  Galors  and  his 
prey  had  already  heard.  He  went  headlong 
down  the  slope  of  the  ground  ;  but  before  any- 
thing more  welcome  he  caught  the  music  of  the 
brook  in  the  bottom. 

There  was  a  gap  in  the  trees  just  there ;  the 
moon  swam  in~  the  midst  large  and  golden. 
Then  at  last  he  saw  what  he  wanted,  and  knew 
that  the  hour  had  come. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

SALOMON    IS    DRIVEN    HOME 

Galors,  too,  knew  that  the  hour  had  come; 
but  his  spirit  came  up  to  meet  it,  and  he  made  a 
push  for  it.  He  was  over  the  brook  ;  if  he  could 
top  the  ridge  he  would  have  the  advantage  he 
had  a  year  ago,  which  this  time  he  swore  to  put 
to  better  use.  The  girl  knew  his  thoughts  as 
she  had  known  the  accolade  of  the  thundering 
hoofs  behind  them.  She  would  have  thrown 
herself  if  the  steel  trap  had  loosed  ever  so  little ; 
as  it  was,  she  fluttered  like  a  rag  caught  in  a 
bush ;  the  filmy  body  was  what  Galors  held,  the 
soul  shrilled  prayers  to  the  man's  confusion. 
He  could  not  stay  her  lips  ;  they  moved,  working 
against  him,  as  he  knew  well.  "  Mother  of  God, 
send  him,  send  him,  send  him  !  "  It  was  ill  fighting 
against  a  girl's  soul,  it  slacked  his  rein  and  drugged 
his  heel.  By  God,  let  the  boy  come  and  be 
damned  ;  let  him  fight !  "  Mother  of  God,  send, 
send,  send  !  "  breathed  Isoult.  The  horse  below 
them  shuddered,  failed  to  come  up  to  the  rein, 
bowed  his  head  to  the  jerked  spur.  Galors  left 
off  spurring,  and  slackened  his  rein.  Though  he 
would  not  look  behind  him  lie  heard  the  plash  of 
the  ford,  heard  also  Prosper's  low,  "  Steady,  mare, 

35' 


352  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

hold  up  !  "     Prosper  was  over ;  Galors  half-way 
up  the  hill.     It  would  be  soon. 

The  black  and  white  gained  hand  over  hand  ; 
the  red  and  green  felt  him  come.  The  soul  of 
Isoult  hovered  between  them.  Black  and  white 
drew  level;  red  and  green  held  on.  Side  by  side, 
spears  erect  and  tapering  into  the  moon,  plumes 
nodding,  eyes  front,  they  paced  ;  the  soul  of  Isoult 
took  flight,  the  body  crouched  in  the  steel's  hug. 
The  gleam  of  the  white  wicket-gates  caught  their 
master's  eye;  they  were  risen  in  judgment  against 
him.  Entra  per  me  was  to  play  him  false.  This 
trifling  thing  unnerved  him  till  it  seemed  to 
speak  a  message  of  doom.  But  doom  once  read 
and  accepted,  -  nerve  came  back.  By  God,  he 
would  die  as  he  had  lived,  strenuously,  seeking 
one  thing  at  a  time  !  But  to  be  killed  by  his 
chosen  arm,  overshrilled  by  his  own  shout — that 
sobered  him,  little  of  a  sentimentalist  as  he  was. 
As  for  love-lorn  Prosper,  he  had  still  less  sentiment 
to  waste.  True,  he  had  not  chosen  his  arms,  his 
motto  had  been  found  for  him  by  his  ancestors — 
they  were  cut-and-dried  affairs,  so  much  clothing 
to  which  Galors  at  this  moment  served  as  a  tem- 
porary peg.  Sweet  Saviour !  the  much-desired 
was  near  him,  close  by.  He  could  have  touched 
her  head.  She  never  moved  to  look  at  him ;  he 
knew  so  much  without  turning  his  own  head. 
And  he  knew  further  that  she  knew  him  there. 
The  soul  of  Isoult,  you  see,  had  taken  wings. 
Thus  they  gained  the  ridge  and  halted.  Backing 
their  beasts,  they  were  face  to  face,  and  each 
looked  shrewdly  at  the  other,  waiting  who  should 
begin  the  game. 


SALOMON   IS   DRIVEN   HOME  35^ 

Then  it  was  that  Isoult  suddenly  sat  up  and 
looked  at  Prosper.  He  could  not  read  her  face, 
but  knew  by  her  stifF-poised  head  that  she  was 
quivering.  He  said  nothing,  but  made  a  motion, 
a  swift  jerk  with  his  head,  to  wave  her  out  of  the 
way.  Galors  responded  by  first  tightening,  finally 
relaxing,  his  hold  upon  her  waist.  She  shptdown 
from  the  saddle,  and  stood  hesitating  what  to  do. 
She  had  waited  for  this  moment  so  long,  that  the 
natural  thing  had  become  the  most  unnatural  of 
all.  Prosper  never  glanced  at  her,  but  kept  his 
eyes  steadily  on  Galors.  The  times — in  his  man- 
nish view — were  too  great  for  lovers.  Isoult  stept 
back  into  the  shadows. 

The  two  men  at  once  saluted  in  knightly 
fashion,  wheeled,  and  rode  apart.  The  lists  were 
a  long  alley  between  the  pines,  all  soft  moss  and 
low  scrub  of  whortleberry  and  heather.  Galors 
had  the  hill  behind  him,  but  no  disadvantage  in 
that  unless  he  were  pushed  down  it;  the  place 
was  dead  level.  They  halted  at  some  thirty 
yards'  interval,  waiting.  Then  Prosper  gave  a 
shout — Bide  the  time  !  Entra  per  me  !  came  as 
a  sombre  echo  ;  and  the  two  spurred  horses  flung 
forward  at  each  other. 

Each  spear  went  true.  Prosper  got  his  into 
the  centre  of  Galors'  shield,  and  it  splintered  at 
the  guard.  Galors'  hit  fair;  but  Prosper  used  his 
trick  of  dropping  at  the  impact,  so  that  the  spear 
glanced  off  over  his  shoulder.  Galors  recovered 
it  and  his  seat  together.  It  would  seem  that 
Prosper  had  taught  him  some  civility  by  this,  for 
he  threw  his  lance  away  as  soon  as  the  horses 
were  free  of  each  other.     Both  drew  their  swords. 

AA 


354  THE   FOREST  LOVERS 

Then  followed  a  bout  of  wheeling  and  darting  in, 
at  which  Prosper  had  clear  advantage  as  the 
lighter  horseman  on  the  handier  horse.  Galors' 
strength  was  in  downright  carving,  Prosper's  in 
his  wrist-play  and  lightning  recovery.  He, 
moreover,  was  cool,  Galors  hot.  At  this  work 
he  got  home  thrice  to  the  other's  once,  but  that 
once  was  for  a  memory,  starred  the  shoulder-piece 
and  bit  to  the  bone.  Left  arm  luckily.  Prosper 
made  a  feint  at  a  light  canter,  spurred  when  he 
was  up  with  his  man,  and,  as  his  horse  plunged, 
got  down  a  back-stroke,  which  sent  Galors' 
weapon  flying  from  his  hand.  He  turned  sharply 
and  reined  up.  Galors  dismounted  slowly,  picked 
up  his  sword,  and  went  to  mount  again.  He 
blundered  it  twice,  shook  the  blood  out  of  his 
eyes,  tried  again,  but  lurched  heavily  and  dropped. 
He  only  saved  himself  by  the  saddle.  Prosper 
guessed  him  more  breathed  than  blooded. 

"  Galors,"  said  he,  "  we  have  done  well  enough 
for  the  turn.     Rest,  and  let  me  rest." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Galors  thickly. 

The  two  men  sat  facing  each  other  on  either 
side  of  the  way.  Galors  unlaced  his  helm  and 
leaned  on  his  elbows,  taking  long  breaths.  Prosper 
unlaced  his ;  and  then  followed  a  lesson  to  Isoult 
in  warfare,  as  he  understood  it.  The  girl  had 
run  down  the  hill-side  to  the  brook,  so  soon  as 
she  saw  they  must  give  over.  She  now  came 
back,  bearing  between  her  hands  a  broad  leaf  filled 
with  water.  This  she  brought  to  her  lord.  Prosper 
smiled  to  her. 

"Take  it  to  Galors,  Isoult,  whom  we  must 
consider  as  our  guest,"  he  whispered. 


SALOMON   IS   DRIVEN   HOME  355 

She  turned  at  once  and  went  dutifully,  with 
recollected  feet  and  bosom  girt  in  meekness,  to 
give  him  the  cold  water  cupped  in  her  palms. 
Galors  drank  greedily,  and  grunted  his  thanks. 
As  for  Prosper,  he  praised  men  and  angels  for  a 
fair  vision. 

She  came  back  after  another  journey  to  feed 
her  lover,  and  afterwards  stood  as  near  to  him  as 
she  dared.  Galors,  the  alien,  looked  ever  at  the 
ground. 

"  Galors,"  said  Prosper  presently, "  how  do  you 
find  my  harness  ?  " 

"  It  has  served  me  its  turn,"  he  answered. 

"  That  also  I  can  say  of  yours,"  replied  Prosper, 
with  a  little  laugh ;  "  for  it  has  taken  me  into 
places  where,  without  it,  I  should  have  found  a 
strait  gate  in.  For  that  I  can  thank  you  more 
than  for  the  head-ache  and  cold  bath  at  Goitres." 

"  Ha ! "  said  the  other,  "  that  was  a  sheer 
knock.  I  thought  it  had  finished  you,  to  be 
plain.  But  do  not  lay  it  to  my  door.  I  fight 
truer  than  that." 

"Truly  enough  you  have  fought  me  this 
night,"  Prosper  allowed  heartily,  "  and  I  ask  no 
better.  But  will  you  now  tell  me  one  thing  about 
which  I  have  been  curious  ever  since  our  encoun- 
ter in  this  place  a  year  ago  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Your  arms — the  blazon — do  you  bear  them 
as  of  right  ?  " 

"  I  bear  them  by  the  right  a  fighter  has.  They 
have  carried  me  far,  and  done  niy  work." 

"  They  are  not  of  your  family  ?  " 

"  My   family  ?      Messire,   you   should   know 


356  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

that  a  monk  carries  no  arms.  My  family,  more- 
over, was  not  knightly,  till  I  made  it  knightly." 

"  The  arms  you  assumed  with  your  new  pro- 
fession ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  May  I  know  whence  you  took  them  ? " 

"  No,  I  cannot  tell  you  that.  They  are  the 
arms  of  a  man  now  dead,  Salomon  de  Mont- 
guichet." 

"  They  are  the  arms,"  said  Prosper  slowly,  "  of 
a  man  now  dead.  I  saw  him  dead,  and  helped  to 
bury  him.  I  knew  not  then  how  he  died,  though 
I  have  thought  to  be  sure  since.  But  you  are 
wrong  in  one^  thing.  The  bearer  of  those  arms 
was  not  Salomon  de  Montguichet." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  wrong,  Messire.  It  is 
beyond  doubt ;  and  the  proof  is  that  on  the 
shield  are  the  guichets,  taken  from  the  name." 

"  Galors,  the  name  was  taken  from  the  guichets^ 
and  the  guichets  from  Coldscaur  in  the  north. 
The  man's  name  was  Salomon  de  Born." 

Galors  gave  a  dry  sob,  and  another,  and  another. 
He  threw  up  his  arms,  twisting  with  the  gesture 
of  a  man  on  the  rope.  Prosper  and  Isoult  rose 
also,  Prosper  pale  and  hard,  the  girl  wide-eyed. 
Galors  seemed  to  tear  at  himself,  as  if  at  war  with 
a  fiend  inside  him.  Prosper  stepped  forward; 
you  would  not  have  known  his  voice. 

"  Man,"  he  said,  "  our  account  is  not  yet  done. 
But  I  know  what  I  know.  If  you  have  accounts 
to  settle,  settle  them  now.  I  will  bear  you 
company  and  wait  for  you  where  you  will." 

The  words  steadied  Galors,  sobered  and  quieted 
him.     He  began  to  mutter  to  himself.     "  God 


SALOMON   IS  DRIVEN  HOME  357 

hath  spoken  to  me.  Out  of  my  own  deeds 
Cometh  His  judgment,  and  out  of  my  own  sowing 
the  harvest  I  shall  reap.  Entra  per  me,  saith 
God."  He  turned  to  Prosper.  "  Sir,  I  accept 
of  your  allowance.  I  will  not  take  you  far.  One 
more  thing  I  will  ask  at  your  hands,  that  you 
give  me  back  my  own  sword — Salomon's  sword. 
After  a  little  you  shall  have  it  again." 

"I  will  do  it,"  said  Prosper,  knowing  his 
thought. 

They  changed  swords.  Prosper  set  Isoult  on 
his  horse  and  himself  walked  at  her  stirrup. 
The  three  of  them  moved  forward  without 
another  word  given  or  exchanged.  Galors  led 
the  way. 

Instead  of  following  the  line  of  the  chase,  which 
had  been  north,  they  now  struck  east  through 
the  heavy  woodland.  So  they  went  for  some 
three  hours.  It  must  have  been  near  midnight, 
with  a  moon  clear  of  all  trees,  when  they  halted 
at  a  cross-ride  which  ran  north  and  south. 
Before  them,  over  the  ride,  rose  a  thick  wall  of 
pine-stems,  so  serried  that  there  was  no  room  for 
a  horse  to  pass  in  between  them.  Isoult  started, 
looked  keenly  up  and  down  the  ride,  then  collected 
herself  and  sat  quite  still.  Prosper  took  no  notice 
of  anything. 

"  Prosper,"  said  Galors  quietly,  "  you  will  wait 
here  for  me.  You  know  that  I  shall  return.  It 
will  be  within  half-an-hour  from  now." 

"  Good.     I  shall  be  here." 

Galors  dismounted  and  plunged  into  the  wall  of 
pines ;  they  seemed  to  move  and  fold  him  in  their 
mazes,  and  nothing  spoke  of  him  thereafter  but 


35S  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

the  sound  of  his  heavy  tread  on  dry  twigs.  When 
this  was  lost  an  immense  stillness  sat  brooding. 

Neither  Prosper  nor  Isoult  could  speak.  Her 
presence  was  to  him  a  warm  consolation,  to  be 
apprehended  by  flashes  in  the  course  of  a  long 
battle  with  black  and  heavy  thoughts ;  her  also 
the  pause  (more  fateful  than  the  battle  it  had 
interrupted)  affected  strangely,  the  more  strangely 
because  she  did  not  know  the  whole  truth.  I 
may  say  here  that  Prosper  never  told  her  of  it ; 
nor  did  she  ask  it  of  him.  It  was  the  one  event 
of  their  lives,  joint  and  disjoint,  upon  which  they 
were  always  as  dumb  as  now  when  they  thought 
apart.  Thoughtful  apart  though  they  were,  they 
felt  together.  Prosper's  hand  stole  upwards  from 
his  side  ;  Isoult's  drew  to  it  as  metal  to  magnet ; 
the  rest  of  that  heavy  hour  they  passed  hand-in- 
hand.  So  children  comfort  each  other  in  the 
dark. 

Very  faint  and  far  off  a  solitary  cry  broke  the 
vast  dearth  of  the  night.  It  rose  like  an  owl's 
hooting,  held,  shuddered,  and  then  died  down. 
Prosper's  clasp  on  the  girl's  hand  suddenly 
straightened  ;  it  held  convulsively  while  the  call 
held,  relaxed  when  it  relaxed.  Then  the  former 
hush  swam  again  over  the  wood,  and  so  endured 
until,  after  intolerable  suspense,  they  heard  the 
heavy  tread  of  Galors  de  Born. 

His  bulk,  his  white  impassive  mask,  were 
before    them. 

"  I  have  settled  my  account.  Prosper,"  he 
said.     "  Now  settle  yours." 

Prosper  shivered. 

"I  am  quite   ready,"  said  he. 


SALOMON   IS   DRIVEN   HOME  359 

They  changed,  then  crossed  swords,  and  began 
their  second  rally  on  foot.  You  would  have  said 
that  they  were  sluggish  at  the  work,  as  if  their 
blood  had  cooled  with  the  long  wait  or  sense  of 
still  more  dreadful  business  in  the  background, 
and  needed  a  sting  to  one  or  other  to  set  it 
boiling  again.  They  fenced  almost  idly  at  first ; 
it  was  cut  and  parry — formalism.  Galors  was 
very  steady ;  Prosper,  breathing  tightly  through 
his  nose,  very  wary.  Gradually,  however,  they 
warmed  to  it.  Galors  got  a  cut  in  the  upper  arm, 
and  began  making  ugly  rushes,  blundering,  un- 
calculated  bustles,  which  could  only  end  one  way. 
Prosper  had  little  difficulty  in  evading  most  of 
these;  Galors  lost  his  breath  and  with  it  his 
temper.  The  sight  of  his  own  shield  and  sword, 
ever  at  point  against  him,  made  him  mad.  He 
could  never  reach  his  adroit  enemy,  it  seemed. 
For  a  supreme  effort  he  feigned,  drew  back,  then 
made  a  rush.  Prosper  parried,  recovered,  and  let 
in  with  a  staggering  head-cut  which  for  the  time 
dizzied  his  opponent.  Galors  lowered  his  head 
under  his  shield,  made  another  desperate  blind 
rush,  and  got  to  close  quarters.  The  two  men 
struggled  together,  fighting  as  much  with  shields 
as  swords,  and  more  with  legs  and  arms  than  any- 
thing else.  They  were  indistinguishable,  a  twist- 
ing and  flashing  tangle ;  they  locked,  writhed, 
swayed,  tottered — then  rent  asunder.  Galors  fell 
heavily.  He  got  on  his  feet  again,  however,  for 
another  rush.  As  he  came  on  Prosper  stepped 
aside,  knocked  out  his  guard  and  slashed  at  the 
shoulder — a  dreadful  thirsty  blow.  Galors  stag- 
gered, his  shield  dropped  ;  but  he  came  on  once 


36o  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

more.  Another  side-cut  beat  his  weapon  down, 
and  then  a  back-handed  blow  crashed  into  his 
gorget.  He  threw  up  his  arms  and  staggered 
backwards  ;  a  last  cut  finished  him.  Galors  with 
a  cough  that  ended  in  a  wet  groan  fell  like  lead. 
He  never  spoke  nor  moved  again. 

Prosper  sank  on  his  knees,  beaten  out.  Isoult 
started  from  the  wood  to  hold  him,  but  he  waved 
her  back.  All  was  not  done.  He  put  his  sword 
in  his  mouth  and  crept  on  all  fours  to  his  enemy, 
lifted  his  visor,  looked  in  his  face.  Then  he  got 
up  and  stood  over  him.  He  swung  back  the  bare 
sword  of  Salomon  de  Born  with  both  hands.  It 
came  down,  did  its  last  work  and  broke. 

Prosper  threw  the  pommel  from  him  and  lifted 
up  the  head  of  Galors.  The  times  were  grim 
times.  He  tied  it  to  his  saddle-bow.  Then  he 
turned  to  Isoult. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  the  fight  is  done." 

They  did  not  stay.  He  took  his  own  shield 
and  sword  from  the  dead,  girt  on  the  first  and 
slung  the  latter  to  the  spare  saddle.  He  took 
his  wife  in  his  arms,  not  daring  to  kiss  her  in  such 
a  place,  and  put  her  on  Galors'  horse ;  and  so 
they  went  their  way  into  the  misty  woods. 

Dark  Tortsentier  took  up  the  watch  amid  the 
sighing  of  its  pine-tree  host.  Its  array  of  shields, 
its  swords  and  mail  kept  their  counsel.  The 
figures  in  the  singular  tapestry  of  Troilus  went 
through  their  aping  unadmired,  and  the  grey 
dawn  found  them  at  it.  Then  you  might  see 
how  idle  Cresseide,  peering  askance  at  Maulfry 
with  her  sly  eyes,  watched  the  black  pool  drown 
her  hair. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

LA  desir:6e 

Prosper  broke  the  silence  there  was  between 
them. 

*'  Whither  should  we  go  ?  "  he  said. 

Isoult  took  the  lead.  "  Follow  me,  I  will  lead 
you.     I  know  the  ways." 

A  great  constraint  kept  him  tongue-tied.  The 
prize  was  his ;  the  silence,  the  emptiness,  the 
night,  gave  him  what  his  sword  had  earned.  He 
trembled  but  dared  not  put  out  his  hand.  What 
was  he — good  Lord  ! — to  touch  so  rare  a  thing  ? 
He  hardly  might  look  at  her.  The  moon  showed 
him  a  light  muffled  figure  swaying  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  march,  the  round  of  her  hooded  head,  the 
swing  of  her  body,  the  play  of  her  white  hand  on 
the  rein.  Whenever  he  dared  to  look  her  face 
was  turned  to  his ;  he  saw  the  moon-glint  in  her 
eyes.  He  absolutely  had  nothing  to  say,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  felt  a  clumsy  fool. 

By  all  which  it  would  seem  that  love  is  a 
virtue  going  out  of  a  man  as  much  as  any  that 
enters  in. 

Isoult  was  in  very  different  plight,  enjoying  her 
brief  moment  of  triumph,  making  as  it  were  the 

361 


362  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

most  of  it.  When  a  woman  loves  she  humbles 
herself,  and  every  prostration  is  matter  for  an 
ecstasy.  Her  love  returned,  she  ventures  to  be 
proud ;  but  this  is  against  the  grain.  It  is  more 
blessed  to  give.  The  freed  soul  welcomes  the 
prison-gates  and  hugs  the  yoke  and  the  chain. 

Just  now  she  was  on  the  verge  of  her  freedom. 
In  thus  looking  at  him  who  had  been  her  lord 
yesterday  and  would  be  her  lord  to-morrow,  she 
was  taking  his  measure.  In  her  exalted  mood 
she  found  that  she  could  read  him  hke  a  book. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  his  present  docility, 
but  could  she  dare  to  mould  it?  She  must  woo, 
she  saw ;  dare  she  trail  this  steel-armed  lord  of 
battles,  this  grim  executant,  this  trumpet  of  God, 
as  a  led  child  by  her  girdle-ribbons?  If  hero  he 
had  proved  in  his  own  walk,  to  be  sure  he 
shambled  pitifully  on  the  edge  of  hers.  Her 
superiority  sparkled  so  hard  and  frosty-bright  that 
she  began  to  pity  him  ;  and  so  the  maid  was 
thawed  to  be  the  mother  of  her  man.  Isoult 
knew  she  must  beguile  him  now  for  his  soul's 
ease  and  her  own. 

When  the  ride  grew  broad  and  ran  like  a  spit 
into  a  lake  of  soft  dark  she  stopped.  There  was 
moss  here,  there  were  lichened  heather-roots, 
rowan  bushes,  and  a  ring  of  slim  birches,  silver- 
shafted,  feather-crowned  and  light ;  more  than  all 
there  was  a  little  pool  of  water  which  two  rills  fed. 

"  We  will  stay  here,"  said  Isoult. 

Prosper  dismounted  and  helped  her  down.  She 
felt  him  trembling  as  he  held  her,  whereat  her 
courage  rose  clear  and  high. 

"I  will  disarm   you" — had  she  not  done  it. 


LA   DESIRfeE  363 

indeed  ! — "and  dress  your  hurts.  Then  you  shall 
rest  and  I  look  at  you  at  last." 

"  I  am  not  much  hurt.    We  could  well  go  on." 

"  Nay,  you  must  let  me  do  as  I  will  now.  I 
must  disarm  you.     'Tis  my  right." 

She  did  it,  kneeling  at  his  knees  or  standing 
before  him.  For  once  he  was  that  delight  of  a 
woman  in  love,  her  plaything,  her  toy — her  baby, 
in  a  word.  She  girdled  him  with  her  arms  at 
need ;  her  fingers  busy  at  neck  or  cheek-pieces 
unlaced  the  helm. 

"Now  kneel." 

He  obeyed  her,  and  she  grew  tenderly  deft  over 
his  wounds.  She  washed  them  clean,  bound  them 
up  with  strips  torn  from  her  skirt.  She  pushed 
back  his  hair  from  eyes  and  brows,  and  washed 
him  clean  of  blood  and  sweat  and  rage.  Her 
petticoat  was  her  towel ;  she  would  have  used  her 
hair,  but  that  she  dared  not  lose  command  of  her- 
self and  him.  She  wished  for  once  to  draw  him, 
not  to  be  drawn. 

She  knelt  down  on  the  moss,  touching  her  lap 
meaningly  as  she  did  so. 

"  Rest  here,"  said  the  gesture ;  "  rest  here,  my 
dear  heart,"  said  the  smile  that  flew  with  it. 

He  knelt  beside  her — all  went  well  up  to  this. 
The  moon  was  low,  the  night  wearing ;  but  the 
pure  light  came  flowing  through  a  rent  in  the 
trees,  and  she  caught  his  look  upon  her.  She 
tried,  but  she  could  not  meet  it.  Then  it  befell 
her  that  she  would  not  meet  it  if  she  could. 

Prosper  took  something  from  his  breast. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  as  he  held  it  up. 

She  watched  it  quivering  in  the  moonbeams; 


364  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

her  eyes  brimmed ;  she  grew  blush-red,  divinely 
ashamed. 

"  Hold  your  hand  out,"  said  Prosper.  She  had 
risen  to  her  knees ;  they  were  kneeling  face  to 
face,  very  near. 

Isoult's  hands  were  crossed  at  her  neck.  Prosper 
remembered  the  gesture.  Now  she  held  out  her 
left  hand  and  let  him  crown  it.  He  held  on — 
alas  I  he  was  growing  master  every  minute. 

**  Isoult." 

«  Yes." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  love,  Isoult !  Now  I  shall  wed 
thee,  Isoult  the  much-desired." 

She  began  to  shake.  But  she  put  her  hands 
up  till  they  rested  on  his  shoulders.  She  laughed 
in  a  low  thrilled  tone. 

"  I  am  La  Desiree  now,  and  no  longer  La 
Desirous.  For  what  I  desired  was  another's 
desire."  Also  she  said — "  Kiss  my  mouth,  and 
I  shall  believe  that  thou  speakest  the  truth  of  the 
heart." 

He  held  her  with  his  hands,  looking  long  and 
steadily  ;  nor  did  her  eyes  refuse  him  now.  Love 
was  awake  and  crying  between  the  pair.  He  drew 
her  nearer,  kissed  her  on  the  eyes  and  on  the 
mouth  ;  and  she  grew  red  and  loved  him  dearly. 

So  in  the  soft  night,  under  the  forest  trees,  in 
the  hush  that  falls  before  dawn,  those  two  kissed 
and  comforted  one  another.  It  was  as  in  a  field 
of  blood  that  the  rod  of  love  thrust  into  flower  at 
last.  But  the  forest  which  had  seen  the  graft 
held  the  flower  by  right.  None  watched  their 
espousal  save  the  trees  and  the  mild  faces  of  the 
stars. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

FOREST    LOVE 

With  the  sun  rose  Isoult,  transfigured  and 
glorified,  Love's  rosy  priest.  She  sHpped  from 
her  man's  arms,  hung  over  him  wonderfully, 
lightly  kissed  his  forehead  without  disturbing 
his  deep  sleep.  Then  she  went  to  bathe  herself 
in  the  pool,  and  to  bind  up  her  hair.  The  wood- 
land was  jewelled  with  dew,  it  went  in  misty  green 
and  yellow,  all  vocal  of  the  joy  she  had.  She 
was  loved  !  she  was  lov^ed  ! 

Fresh  and  full  of  light  she  came  dancing  back, 
without  a  trace  of  the  haggard  beauty  upon  her 
which  had  stolen  about  the  ways  of  Holy  Thorn. 
Her  mouth  had  the  divine  childishness,  the  rip- 
pling curves  of  the  naked  god's  bow;  her  eyes 
were  glossy-soft  and  rayed  a  light  from  within. 
Warm  arms  stole  round  Prosper,  a  warm  cheek 
was  by  his,  warm  lips  kissed  him  awake.  The 
duet,  as  of  two  low-answering  doves,  began — 

"  Is  this  Isoult  la  Desirous  who  cometh  ? " 

"  You  called  me  Desiree." 

"  How  long  sought,  how  long  prayed  for !  "" 

"  Found  now,  and  close  at  last." 

"  Closer  yet,  closer  yet." 
365 


366  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  Oh  heart,  oh  desire !     Prosper ! " 

''  Yes." 

"  Tell  me  one  thing." 

"  Ask." 

"  When  you  began  to  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  Will  you  put  me  to  shame,  Isoult  ?  " 

''  Never,  never !  There  is  no  shame  in  you. 
Look  what  I  am." 

"The  purest,  the  loveliest,  the  bride  of  all 
delight ! " 

"  You  are  a  great  lord ;  and  I " 

"  The  great  lord's  lady — out  of  his  reach." 

"  Prosper !  No,  no.  If  I  am  out  of  reach, 
reach  not  for  me.  Tell  me  instead  what  I  ask 
you. 

"  But  you  know  when  I  began,  and  what  you 
said." 

"  Ah,  it  was  then  ? " 

"  No,  it  was  not  then.  It  was  after  that.  It 
was  when  I  knew  that  you  loved  me." 

"  Did  you  not  know  from  the  first  ?  Oh,  what 
men  must  be!     And  I  called — as  I  was  called." 

'*  La  Desirous  ?  Ah,  yes.  Tell  me  now  why 
that  was  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  now."  She  hid  her  face 
on  his  breast  and  whispered  her  story.  "  I  was 
twelve  years  old — a  sheep-girl  on  Marbery  Down. 
There  are  many,  many  herds  there,  and  five  of  us 
that  kept  them  that  day,  huddling  together  to  be 
warm.  For  I  was  cold  enough — in  rags  as  you 
have  seen  me,  but  worse ;  my  shoulder  and  side 
went  bare  then.  Then  there  came  riding  over 
the  brow  a  company  of  lords  having  falcons  on 
their  wrists ;  and  I  stood  up  to  watch   them  fly 


FOREST   LOVE  367 

their  birds.  There  was  an  old  man,  tall  and  very- 
noble,  with  white  hair  and  beard,  and  a  brown 
keen  face;  and  there  were  others,  young  men, 
and  one  was  a  lad,  his  son.  The  lad  it  was  who 
flew  his  bird  at  a  heron.  The  falcon  shot  up  into 
the  air  ;  she  towered  over  my  head  where  I  stood, 
and  after  stooped  and  fell  upon  me,  and  clung  to 
my  raiment,  pecking  at  my  heart.  And  I  cried 
out  at  the  sharpness  of  the  pain,  and  wrestled  with 
the  falcon  to  get  her  off  me,  but  could  not  for 
the  battling  of  her  sails.  Then  the  lad,  the  owner 
of  the  hawk,  rode  up  to  me  and  took  away  the 
bird  and  killed  her.  He  was  a  ruddy  lad,  with 
the  bright  blue  eyes  of  his  father ;  but  his  hair 
was  long  and  yellow  as  gold.  To  me  he  gave 
money,  and  what  was  dearer  than  money  and 
rarer,  gentle  words.  For  he  said — '  Maiden, 
my  haggard  hath  done  thee  a  wrong,  and  I 
through  her.  But  when  I  am  a  man  I  will 
amend  it.'  Now  the  wound  over  my  heart  kept 
fresh  and  could  never  be  healed ;  and  I  was 
thought  shameful  for  that,  because  men  said  I 
went  bleeding  for  love.  And  God  knows  it  was 
a  true  saying." 

"  Oh,  Isoult,  was  it  true,  was  it  true  ?  For  that 
old  man  was  my  father,  and  the  lad  was  I." 

Said  Isoult — 

"Ah,  when  thou  didst  ride  into  the  quarry 
and  foundest  me  with  Galors  there,  I  knew  thee 
again  ;  and  when  thou  didst  wed  me  the  wound 
stayed  bleeding,  but  remained  fresh.  But  now 
— now  it  is  healed." 

They  turned  their  lips  to  each  other  and 
murmured  comfort  with  kisses. 


368  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

"  By  the  Lord,"  cried  he,  "  I  could  eat  a  meal." 

"  O  greedy  one,  I  will  put  you  to  shame.  All 
my  desire  is  to  take  God's  body.  For  I  know 
that  we  have  had  no  marriage-mass." 

"That  is  a  true  saying.  But  the  Host  is 
harder  to  come  by.  There  is  a  place  in  Mor- 
graunt,  nevertheless,  where  you  may  hear  Mass 
and  break  good  bread  after.  I  have  been  there, 
but  not  from  here." 

*'But  I  have  been  there  too.  Prosper,  and 
from  here,  or  near  here.  I  remember.  I  know 
the  road." 

"  Come  then,  lead  me,  my  bride." 

She  armed  her  lord,  being  now  entered  into 
her  old  self,  ~  radiant,  softly  fair,  guarded,  and 
demure.  He  also  was  the  man  of  her  choosing, 
invincibly  lord.  They  found  their  beasts  near 
by,  and  were  soon  on  the  way,  with  their  pale 
trophy  hidden  in  a  cloth. 

Mass  was  said  by  the  time  they  reached  the 
yew-tree  close,  and  saw  the  shrine  and  image  of 
Saint  Lucy  of  the  Eyes.  Alice  of  the  Hermitage 
came  out  into  the  open,  shading  her  face  against 
the  sun.  Prosper  she  remembered  not,  but  when 
she  saw  Isoult  she  gave  a  little  cry.  The  two 
girls  were  in  each  other's  arms  in  no  time. 

"  Oh,  you !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  1  have  come  back.  And  you  know 
me  like  this  ? " 

"  I  would  know  you  anywhere,  by  what  you 
can  never  cut  off." 

"Now  you  must  know  my  lord,"  said  Isoult 
with  a  great  heart. 

Prosper  came  up. 


FOREST   LOVE  369 

"Ah,  damsel,"  says  he,  "you  sped  me  into 
your  forest,  and  so  sped  me  to  my  happiness  in 
spite  of  myself.  Have  you  forgotten  the  white 
bird  ?  Look  again  and  tell  me  if  I  have  redeemed 
the  quest." 

"Ah,  ah,"  said  glowing  Alice,  "now  I  re- 
member my  dream  of  the  bird.    Is  this  possible?" 

She  looked  at  Isoult.  Isoult  blushed  ;  but 
she  was  all  for  blushing  just  now. 

"  If  it  is  true,"  Alice  continued,  "  you  make 
me  very  happy.     Now  let  me  serve  you." 

"  You  shall,"  said  Prosper.  "  Pray  give  us 
something  to  eat." 

"  Alice,"  said  Isoult,  "  it  was  my  lord  who 
taught  me  how  to  pray — to  Mother  Mary  and 
Saint  Isidore.     We  have  had  no  marriage-mass." 

"  Ah,  that  is  serious.  You  are  not  yet  wedded 
then?" 

Isoult  blushed  again. 

"Will  the  father  wed  us?"  she  contented 
herself  to  ask.     But  Prosper  would  not  have  it. 

"Nay,  by  God  and  His  Christ,  but  we  are 
one  soul  by  now!"  he  cried.  "The  year  of 
agony  for  her,  the  year  of  schooling  for  me,  is 
past.  God  has  upheld  my  arm,  and  her  heart 
is  mine.  But  I  beg  of  you,  Alice,  prevail  upon 
the  priest  to  give  us  his  God  and  ours.  For 
though  we  have  been  wedded  by  a  Churchman, 
we  have  not  been  wedded  by  the  Church." 

"The  father  shall  do  it,"  said  Alice.  "Fear 
nothing." 

There  were  two  scruples  in  the  good  man's 
way.  If  he  said  Mass  twice  in  the  morning  he 
broke  the  law  of  the  Church ;  if  he  put  off  his 

n   B 


370  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

breakfast,  he  broke  that  of  nature,  which  bids  a 
man  fill  when  he  is  empty.  And  the  priest  was 
a  law-abiding  man.  In  the  end,  however,  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  had  their  marriage-mass. 
Kneeling  on  the  mossy  stone  they  received  the 
Sop.  Alice  of  the  Hermitage  brought  two 
crowns  of  briony  leaves  and  scarlet  berries ;  so 
Morgraunt  anointed  what  Morgraunt  had  set 
apart;  the  postulants  were  adept.  Afterwards, 
when  the  priest  had  gone  and  all  things  were 
accomplished,  Alice  of  the  Hermitage  kissed  a 
sister  and  a  brother ;  and  then  very  happily  they 
broke  their  bread  sitting  in  the  sun. 

"  Whither  now,  my  lord  ? "  asked  Isoult  when 
they  had  done.~ 

"  Ah,  to  High  March,  pardieu  !  "  Prosper  said ; 
"  there  is  a  little  work  left  for  me  there.  You 
shall  go  in  as  a  queen  this  time.  Clothe  her  as 
a  queen,  Alice,  and  let  us  be  off." 

Alice  took  her  away  to  be  dressed  in  the  red 
silk  robe ;  she  drew  on  the  silk  stockings,  the 
red  slippers.     Then  she  went  to  tire  her  hair. 

"Stay,"  said  Isoult,  "and  tell  me  something 
first." 

"What  is  it,  dearest?" 

"  My  hair,  how  far  does  it  reach  by  now  ?  " 

*'  Oh  !  it  is  a  mantle  to  you,  a  dusky  veil, 
falling  to  your  knees." 

"Now  bind  it  up  for  me,  Alice;  it  has  run  to 
its  tether." 

The  glossy  tower  was  roped  with  sequins,  the 
bride  was  ready.     Alice  adored  her. 

"  Come  and  meet  the  bridegroom,"  said  she. 

Prosper  watched  them  coming  over  the  sunny 


FOREST   LOVE 


37J 


plat.  He  was  not  lettered,  yet  he  should  have 
heard  the  whisper  of  the  Amorist — "  Behold, 
thou  art  fair,  mij  love;  behold,  tJiou  art  fair,  thou 
hast  doves  eyes." 

At  least  he  bowed  his  knee  before  her.  She 
could  have  answered  him  then — "  I  am  as  a 
wall,  and  my  breasts  like  toivers ;  then  was  I  in 
his  eyes  as  one  that  found  favour.'" 

"  Good-bye,  my  sister  Desiree,"  said  Alice  of 
the  Hermitage.  Tears  and  kisses  met  and 
answered  each  other. 

"  Surely  now,  surely  here  is  love  enough ! " 
she  cried  as  they  rode  away.  For  my  part,  I  am 
disposed  to  agree  with  her.  But  Prosper  found 
her  glorious. 

"  Can  our  lord  have  enough  of  incense,  or  his 
mother  weary  of  songs  ?  Can  La  Desirous  sicken 
of  desire  ? " 

For  two  more  nights  green  Morgraunt  made 
their  bed. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE    LADY    PIETOSA    DE    BREAU'lE 

Evidently  they  were  expected  at  High  March; 
for  no  sooner  the  white  plumes  had  cleared  the 
forest  purlieus  and  came  nodding  over  the  heath 
in  view  of  the  solemn  towers,  than  a  white  flag 
was  run  up  the  keep.  It  floated  out  bravely — a 
snow  patch  in  a  pure  sky. 

'*  Peace,  hey  ? "  quoth  Prosper,  asking.  "Well 
then,  there  shall  be  peace  if  they  will  take  it.  It 
is  for  them  to  settle." 

Isoult  said  nothing.  She  had  no  reason  to 
welcome  High  March,  or  to  attend  a  welcome. 
She  might  have  doubted  the  wisdom  of  their 
adventure  had  she  been  less  newly  a  wife.  As  it 
was,  she  would  have  followed  her  man  into  the 
jaws  of  hell. 

When  they  drew  closer  still,  they  could  see 
that  the  great  gates  were  set  open  and  the  draw- 
bridge let  down.  Soon  the  guard  turned  out 
and  presented  arms.  Then  issued  in  good  order 
a  white-robed  procession,  girls  and  boys  bare- 
headed, holding  branches  of  palm.  A  rider  in 
green  marshalled  them  with  a  long  white  wand 
which  he  had  in  his  right  hand.  It  was  all  very 
curious. 

372 


THE  LADY  PIETOSA  DE  BREAUTE     373 

"  I  should  know  that  copper- headed  knave," 
said  Prosper, 

"  It  is  the  seneschal,  dear  lord,"  said  Isoult, 
who  would  know  him  better,  "  with  his  white  rod 
of  office." 

Prosper  gave  a  mighty  shout.  "  Master  Porges, 
by  the  Holy  Rood !  Oh,  Master  Porges,  Master 
Porges,  have  you  not  yet  enough  of  rods  white  or 
black  ?  Look  how  the  rascal  wags  the  thing. 
Why,  hark,  child,  he  has  set  them  singing." 

The  shrill  voices,  in  effect,  rose  and  fell  along 
the  devious  ways  of  a  litany  to  Master  Porges' 
household  gods.  Mention  has  already  been 
made  of  his  curiosity  in  these  commodities.  The 
present  times  he  had  judged  to  be  times  of  crisis, 
big  with  fate.  Who  so  apt  as  his  newest  saint  to 
propitiate  the  hardy  outlaw  Galors  de  Born,  and 
the  young  Demoiselle  de  Breaute  ? 

For  the  shocked  soul  of  Porges  had  fled  into 
religion  as  your  only  cure  for  esteem  and  a  back 
cruelly  scored.  In  such  stresses  as  the  present 
it  still  took  wing  to  the  same  courts.  "  Sancta 
Isolda,  Sancta  Isolcla,  Genetricis  Ancillal^  went 
the  choir,  "  Oia,  ora pro  nobis.'" 

And  then — , 

'  Quco  de  cnelis  volitans, 
Sacras  manus  agitans, 
Foves  in  supp/iciis 
Ale,  ne  extra  gregulo 
Tuo  unusferiilo 
Per  cat  in  vitiis."    .    .    . 

and  so  on.  The  youngsters  sang  with  a  good 
will,  while  Master  Porges,  as  poet  and  man  of 
piety,  glowed  in  his  skin.     The  verse  limped,  the 


374  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

Latin  had  suffered,  perhaps,  more  violence  than 
Latin  should  be  asked  to  suffer  even  of  a  Chris- 
tian :  but  what  of  that  ?  It  was  the  pietist's  own  ; 
and  as  his  pupils  sang  it,  they  bore  before  his  eyes 
the  holy  image  of  the  saint  trampling  under  her 
feet  the  hulking  thief  Prosper.  And  gaily  they 
bore  it,  and  gaily  sang  their  unwitting  way  towards 
the  unwitting  couple  of  lovers,  who  never  let  go 
hands  until  they  were  near  enough  to  feel  all  eyes 
burn  into  them  to  read  their  secret. 

This  was  vastly  well ;  but  Master  Forges'  pre- 
sent bent  was  towards  policy.  Her  ladyship  had 
advised  with  him  in  her  new  occasions.  "  Sir 
Galors  de  Born,"  she  had  said,  "  is  a  late  enemy 
of  mine  no  longer  to  be  feared,  since  I  have 
won  back  all-  my  fiefs  by  the  readiness  and 
prudent  discretion  of  the  High  Bailiff  of  Wa2> 
meeting." 

This  good  man  had  indeed  made  the  most  of 
his  achievements,  and,  reflecting  that  Prosj)er  had 
gone  alone  to  tackle  Galors, — whereof  he  was 
indubitably  dead, —  and  that  it  was  a  pity  no  one 
should  be  any  the  better  for  such  a  mishap,  had 
told  the  whole  story  to  his  mistress,  carefully 
leaving  the  hero's  name  out  of  account.  "  For 
why,"  said  the  Bailiff,  "  cause  a  woman  to  shed 
unavailing  tears  ? " 

"  Remember,  however,"  the  Countess  went  on, 
"  that  this  Galors  may  be  the  escort  of  the  Lady 
Pietosa  de  Breaute,  my  daughter  and  your  mis- 
tress, to  her  home.  Pay  him  then  the  respect 
due  to  such  an  esquire,  but  no  more.  Receive 
from  him  my  Lady  Pietosa,  and  put  yourself 
between  her  and  him — yourself  at  her  right  hand 


THE    LADY    PIETOSA   DE    BREAUTE     375 

and  in  the  middle.  She  is  not  his ;  at  the  worst 
of  all  he  is  hers." 

Master  Porges  bowed,  observing.  Here  was 
need  of  a  high  stroke  of  policy.  Now  policy  to 
him  meant  mastery,  and  mastery  when  it  did  not 
mean  a  drubbing,  as  it  had  done  with  Prosper 
(the  greatest  politician  he  had  ever  known),  meant 
a  snubbing.  With  a  cue  from  Prosper's  hand- 
ling of  the  science,  Master  Porges  thought  he 
could  show  Galors,  politically,  his  place. 

The  white-robed  throng  of  singers  stopped, 
with  wondering  simple  faces,  before  the  great 
black  knight  and  his  rose-clad  lady.  Prosper 
doubtless  looked  grim — he  hardly  filled  the  head- 
piece of  Galors :  the  white  wicket-gates,  with 
many  a  dint  across  them,  gleamed  harshly  from 
the  coal-black  shield.  Entra  per  me  had  an 
uncompromising  ring  about  it.  His  visor  was 
down ;  he  did  not  wish  them  to  see  a  too  good- 
humoured  face  until  he  had  exacted  a  tribute. 

But  Master  Porges  cantered  up  with  many  a 
sweep  of  hand  and  cap  to  the  lady. 

"  My  lady,  welcome  to  your  halls  and  smiling 
goodly  lands.  We  have  done  what  honour  we 
might.  Your  ladyship  will  read  it  for  an  earnest 
of  our  duties  and  good-will," 

Thus  Porges.  Isoult  sat  wondering,  very  much 
confused.  She  was  coming  in  as  a  queen  indeed. 
Master  Porges  went  on  to  handle  the  esquire. 

"  Master  Galors,  good-day  to  you,"  he  said. 
**  My  lady  the  Countess  of  Hauterive  hath  heard 
of  you.  She  may  possibly  send  for  you  anon. 
In  the  meantime,  in  the  pendency  of  her  motions 
to  that  grace,  I  am  to  receive  from  you  the  Lady 


376  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

Pietosa,  who  has  suffered  your  attentions  so  far, 
and  who  thanks  you,  through  me,  her  inherited 
minister.  At  your  ladyship's  pleasure  now. 
Follow  us,  good  Master  Galors." 

Unfortunately  Prosper  saw  no  need  for  playing 
Galors  just  then.  But  the  seneschal  always 
pleased  him. 

"  Master  Porges,"  he  said  in  his  suavest  tones, 
"  the  gentleman  you  name  is  indisposed  to  wait 
very  long — he  must  not  indeed  be  delayed — and 
is  wholly  incapable  of  travel  unattended.  He 
must  therefore  ride  where  I  ride.  As  for  the 
lady  upon  whom  you  bestow  so  decorous  a  name, 
I  cannot  answer.  The  lady  whom  I  escort  will 
please  herself.  Step  behind  us.  Master  Porges, 
I  entreat  of  you.  You  would  not  ask  so  much 
of  Sir  Galors  de  Born  if  you  knew  him  as  well 
as  I  do." 

"  Now,  who  is  this  ?  What  am  I  then,  Mes- 
sire  ?  "  the  seneschal  gasped. 

"  You  are  the  most  worshipful  Master  Porges, 
if  I  am  right,  by  the  grace  of  God  Seneschal  of 
High  March,  and  so  forth." 

*'Ah!     Good!     And  you,  sir?" 

"  I  am  not  Galors  de  Born,"  replied  Prosper 
modestly,  "  though  he  is  not  far  removed  from 
me." 

"  You  bear  his  coat,  Messire." 

"  Ah,  Saint  Mary  !  I  bear  more  than  that  of 
his." 

"  Messire,  I  have  it  in  command " 

"  And  I  have  it  to  command.  Behind,  sir," 
said  Prosper  shortly  and  finally.  Then  he  rode 
forward  with  Isoult  and  met  the  minstrels. 


THE    LADY    PIETOSA   DE    BREAUTE     377 

"  My  little  singers,"  cried  he,  "  sing  your 
blithest  now,  and  take  us  happily  to  the  Castle. 
Come — 

" '  Love  is  Lord  of  the  land. 
Master  of  maid  and  man  ; 
Goeth  in  green  with  a  ruddy  face 
Heartening  whom  he  can/  "  etc.,  etc. 

The  thing  was  a  country  catch  which  he  had 
himself  caught  up  from  the  High  March  maids. 
It  went  to  a  free  breathless  measure,  ran  easily 
into  a  gallop,  must  be  jigged  to.  The  flutter- 
ing cavalcade  came  skipping  home,  all  save  the 
boy  who  carried  Sancta  Isolda,  and  he  at  last 
tucked  her  under  his  arm  and  tripped  with  the 
rest.  So  it  befel  that  the  man  of  policy  came 
in  the  rear;  so  also  it  befel  that,  when  at  the 
gates  Prosper  demanded  his  audience.  Master 
Porges  went  in  chastened  with  the  message,  and 
came  back  still  more  chapfallen  to  report — that 
her  ladyship,  his  mistress,  would  receive  the 
messenger  of  Sir  Galors  de  Born  at  once,  with 
the  lady  in  his  escort.  Thus  finally  Prosper, 
with  Isoult  behind  him,  stood  in  the  great  hall, 
and  saw  the  Countess  Isabel  trembhng  on  the 
dais. 

She  came  down  the  way  left  her  by  the 
assembled  household,  pale  and  misty  with  tears 
to  meet  them.  Prosper  was  softened  at  once, 
bat  before  he  could  speak  she  was  holding  out 
her  hands  to  him  as  a  suppliant,  striving  to 
steady  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  Galors,"  she  began,  "  thou  hast  been  my 
enemy  declared  for  no  fault  of  mine,  and  dread- 
ful wrong  hast  thou  done  to  many  harmless  folk 


378  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

who  had  never  wronged  thee.  Yet,  if  I  had 
never  won  back  what  was  mine,  and  still  owed 
thee  a  living  grudge  instead  of  a  grudge  for  the 
unhappy  dead,  for  the  sake  of  her  thou  bringest 
me  I  must  receive  thee  here.  Now  give  me 
that  which  thou  didst  promise.  Let  me  see 
her." 

Prosper  stood  melted  by  the  pent  passion  of 
the  woman,  but  by  her  words  stricken  dumb. 
He  understood  that  she  should  think  him 
Galors,  and  cared  little  if  she  did,  for  discovery 
must  make  his  case  the  stronger.  But  what  she 
wanted  with  Isoult,  what  Galors  had  promised 
on  her  score,  passed  all  comprehension.  He 
thought  he  knew  enough  of  the  Countess  to  be 
sure  she  would  not  lightly  forgive ;  yet  here  was 
the  Countess  asking  to  see  the  girl  who  had 
made  a  fool  of  her  !  Withal  her  need  was  pain- 
fully plain.  He  therefore  took  Isoult  by  the 
hand  and  led  her  forward. 

The  Countess,  shaking  so  that  she  could 
hardly  stand,  caught  the  girl  from  him.  But 
she  could  not  look  at  her,  only  steadied  herself 
by  clutching  at  her  arms. 

"  Let  me  see  the  token,"  says  she  in  an  eager 
whisper. 

So  then  Isoult  unfastened  her  gown  and  took  it 
out  by  its  golden  chain. 

The  Countess  received  it  in  both  hands  as  a 
relic.  Yet  hand  and  head  shook  too  much  that 
she  might  see  it.  The  poor  lady  held  her  wrist 
with  the  other  hand,  lifted  it  up  near  her  face ; 
then  she  blinked  her  eyes  close  to  it.  So  for 
some  time  she  remained,  looking  upon  the  jewel, 


THE   LADY   PIETOSA    DE   BREAUTE      379 

but  seeing  nothing,  seeming  to  love  the  feel 
of  it  in  her  hands,  and  crying  all  the  while  freely 
and  noiselessly  with  streams  of  tears  down  her 
cheeks.  Next  she  dropped  the  crystal  and  took 
Isoult  by  the  shoulders,  to  peer  in  the  same  blind 
fashion  into  the  girl's  wondering  eyes.  And  then 
at  last,  with  a  little  smothered  cry,  she  caught  her 
to  her  bosom,  straining  her  there  with  desperate 
hunger  of  affection,  while  her  tears  and  passionate 
weeping  shook  and  shuddered  through  her.  In 
broken  words,  with  sobs,  half-moaning  prayers, 
and  half-crazy  thanksgivings,  she  spoiled  herself 
of  the  tenderness  and  frantic  love  a  mother  has, 
but  no  other  under  heaven. 

Commanding  herself  in  time,  she  raised  her 
marred  face  high  above  her  daughter,  who  lay 
close  in  her  arms,  and  turning  to  Prosper,  said 
steadily  enough — 

"Galors,  now  declare  thyself  Thou  hast 
spoken  so  far  the  truth.  This  is  my  true 
daughter,  Pietosa  de  Breaute,  the  daughter  of 
my  murdered  lord,  Fulk  de  Breaute,  born  in 
wedlock,  and  by  me  suffered  to  be  stolen  away 
by  him  who  first  stole  my  body  (but  never  my 
soul)  from  my  lord.  Now  ask  of  me,  and  I  will 
give  thee  all,  even  to  this  treasure  at  my  breast. 
Declare  thyself." 

Prosper  forgot  everything  but  to  blurt  out  his 
wonder. 

"Galors,  madam,  Galors!  But  I  am  not 
Galors,  good  Lord  !  Ah  !  "  (and  he  pulled  up 
his  visor).  "Look  upon  me,  madam,  and  judge 
if  I  am  Galors." 

The  Countess  gasped,  then  blushed :    all  the 


38o  THE    FOREST    LOVERS 

household  grew  dumb.  Master  Porges  went  out 
suddenly  into  the  ah*.  The  first  to  recover  breath 
was  the  lady  paramount. 

"Ah,  my  lord  Prosper  le  Gai,"  she  said,  "in 
your  revenge  1  see  your  father's  son.  Should  I 
not  have  known  ?  I  am  at  your  mercy,  my  lord. 
You  have  struck  me  hard  at  last,  harder  than 
before,  but  may  be  not  harder  than  I  deserve." 

"  Madam,"  said  Prosper,  "  it  seems  I  have 
struck  you  harder  and  nearer  than  I  knew.  For 
your  present  joy  has  given  me  the  most  wondrous 
news  that  ever  I  had  in  the  world." 

"But  the  letter  of  Galors,  was  it  not  from 
you  ?  "  she  cried  out. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  letters  from  Galors, 
Countess.     When  I  write  it  is  in  my  own  name." 

"  There  is  mystery  here.  He  wrote  me  of  my 
daughter,  that  he  would  bring  her — ah,  and  take 
her  again.  She  has  come  as  he  said.  But  where 
is  Galors  ? " 

Prosper  lifted  on  high  the  head  of  his  enemy. 
"  Here  he  is,"  said  he. 

A  timely  diversion  was  caused  here  by  a  certain 
red-cheeked  girl,  by  name  Melot.  She  had 
already  proved  the  sharpness  of  her  sloe-black 
eyes;  she  proved  it  now  again  by  seeing,  alone 
of  all  that  company,  the  hounded  page-boy  in 
the  Lady  Pietosa  de  Brcaute.  After  her  first 
gape  of  re-discovery,  being  a  girl  of  parts,  con- 
scious that  generosity  was  afoot,  she  edged  her 
way  to  the  front,  stooped  suddenly  and  caught  at 
the  hem  of  the  red  silk  robe  to  kiss  it. 

"  What  is  this,  wench  ?  "  said  the  Countess, 
glad  of  the  relief. 


THE    LADY   PIETOSA   DE    BR^AUTfi       381 

Then  said  Melot  on  her  knees — "  My  lady,  I 
do  this  because  I  was  the  first  who  sinfully  found 
out  your  ladyship's  lady  daughter  when  she  was 
here  before  like  a  boy;  and  I  pray  her  pardon, 
and  yours,  my  lady,  and  yours  again,  Messire,  for 
the  deadly  sin  I  did." 

Red-cheeked  Melot  ran  on  glibly  up  to  this 
point  on  a  beaten  track.  All  maidens  of  her 
class  wallow  in  contrition.  But  when  her  words 
failed  her,  she  sought  a  distressed  lady's  proper 
shelter,  and  began  to  cry.  Isoult  stooped  and 
caught  her  up  before  she  could  be  stayed.  She 
was  too  newly  a  Countess,  you  see. 

"  This  is  Roy's  answer  to  thee,  Melot,"  she 
laughed,  and  kissed  the  rogue. 

But  for  Isabel,  long  a  Countess — otherwise. 
This  unhappy  lady  felt  herself  whipped.  Her 
abasement  was  now  so  deep,  so  desolately  did  she 
stand  among  her  dependents,  a  naked  woman 
spoiled  of  all  her  robes,  that  Prosper's  honest 
heart  smote   him. 

"  Countess,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  will  you  give 
me  what   Galors   might  have  won  ?  " 

But  Isoult  did  better  still.  She  came  back  to 
her  mother's  breast,  put  up  her  hand  timidly  and 
touched  the  cold  cheek.  "  Mother,"  was  all  she 
said.  It  was  all  the  woman  needed  to  cover  her 
shame  in  a  cloak  of  warm  tears.  The  two  wept 
together,  and  then  Prosper  knelt  to  his  mother- 
in-law's  hand. 

But  the  Countess  was  stronger  than  he  had 
thought.  In  truth,  she  never  spared  herself  any 
of  her  dignities.  Her  humility  now  became  her 
admirably;    never  was   she    more    certainly  the 


382  THE   FOREST   LOVERS 

great  lady  of  romance  than  when  she  led  Prosper 
and  Isoult  to  the  dais,  set  them  each  on  a  throne, 
and  then,  turning  to  her  people,  opened  her  hands 
to  them,  her  heart,  and  her  conscience. 

"  Lo  !  you  now,"  she  cried  out,  "  heed  what  I 
shall  speak.  This  is  the  Lady  Pietosa,  called 
Isoult  le  Gai,  my  daughter  indeed,  Countess  after 
me  of  Hauterive,  Lady  of  Morgraunt  and  the 
purlieus,  whom  I,  unknowing  and  to  my  shame, 
despised  and  misused — unworthy  mother,  that  in 
trying  to  befoul  the  spotless  but  stained  herself 
the  deeper.  And  you,  people,  sheep  of  a  hireling 
shepherd,  followed  in  my  ways  and  became  as  I 
am,  most  miserable  in  shame.  If  now  I  lead  you 
aright,  follow  me  also  that  road.  You  shall  kneel 
therefore  with  me  to  the  young  Countess  and 
to  the  Earl   (in   her  right),  my  Lord   Prosper." 

Before  either  could  stop  her  she  was  on  her 
knees  at  her  daughter's  foot.  Isoult  dropped 
with  a  httle  cry,  but  the  elder  had  her  way.  She 
kissed  the  foot,  and  then  stood  by  the  throne  to 
watch  the  homage  paid. 

One  by  one  they  came  sidling  up.  Melot  was 
pushed  into  the  front  rank;  her  shrewdness  paid 
so  much  penalty.  She  knelt  and  laid  her  fore- 
head on  the  ground.  Isoult  lightly  set  her  foot 
on  the  bowed  head  ;  but  he  who  watched  the 
ceremony  with  dimmed  eyes  saw  that  the  treader 
was  the  humblest  there. 

Master  Porges,  flap-cheeked  and  stertorous, 
grovelled  like  a  fat  spaniel.  Prosper  came  to  the 
rescue  as  he  swam  up  to  the  height  of  a  man 
again,  gasping  for  the  air.     "  Ah,  seneschal,"  he 


THE    LADY    PIETOSA   DE   BREAUTE       383 

said,  "  we  each  love  honour  and  ensue  it  after  our 
fashion.    We  should  be  better  acquainted." 

The  seneschal  kissed  his  hand,  and  never  doubted 
for  one  moment  more  but  that  Prosper  was 
the  pattern  of  knighthood.  The  image-maker  at 
March  was  thereafter  busy  with  the  figure  of  one 
in  the  similitude  of  an  Archangel,  under  whom 
ran  the  legend — "  Properate  vias  ejus.'''  It  is  re- 
ported that  he  had  a  further  commission  for  a 
great  bronze  Saint  Isidore,  destined  to  the  chapel 
at  High  March. 

Days  of  festival  followed,  with  jousting  and 
minstrelsy.  Isoult  sat  in  a  green  silk  bower, 
clothed  all  in  white,  her  black  hair  twisted  with 
pearls,  a  crown  of  red  roses  upon  all.  The 
hooded  falcon  showed  again  on  baldrick  and 
girdle,  the  fesse  dancettee  flickered  on  a  new 
shield,  the  red  plumes  danced  ;  "  Bide  the  time  " 
was  the  cry.  After  this  came  all  the  mesne  lords 
to  do  homage  for  their  lands,  and  among  them 
was  Malise  le  Gai,  Lord  of  Starning  and  Parrox. 
Prosper,  when  the  two  met,  laughed  at  him,  made 
him  angry,  got  forgiven,  and  shook  hands.  He 
thus  put  the  man  at  his  ease,  and  won  a  tolerable 
friendship  with  his  brother  against  the  time  when 
the  elder  would  be,  in  respect  of  certain  fiefs,  the 
vassal  of  the  younger.  But  from  Goitres  came 
none  to  do  fealty,  nor  from  Hauterive,  nor  from 
Malbank  Saint  Thorn.  Goitres,  in  fact,  was 
escheat,  and  granted  out  to  Prosper's  brother 
Osric  and  his  new  wife  from  Pre.  A  new  abbot 
was  set  over  Holy  Thorn  ;  but  the  charter  of  pit 
and  gallows  was  revoked  by  the  Countess,  withal 


384  THE    FOREST   LOVERS 

she  said — "  It  was  the  granting  of  that  charter 
which  won  me  my  child  again." 

It  does  not  appear  that  there  is  anything  more 
to  record. 

"  What  am  I  to  call  you,  lady  wife  ?  "  said 
Prosper,  when  he  had  her  in  his  arms  again. 

"  Ah,  lord,  thou  shouldst  know  by  now !  " 

"  Pietosa  ? " 

"  Prosper .'  " 

"  Isoult  la  Desiree .''  " 

"If  you  must." 

"  Isoult  la  Desirous  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  true." 

"  What  will  you  have  then,  child  ? " 

"  Ah,  ah,  I  will  have  that !  " 

It  was,  after  all,  but  a  rosy  child  that  Prosper 
kissed. 


EXPLICIT. 


R.   CLAV  AND   SONS,    LTD.,    BREAD  ST.    HILL,    E.C.,    AND   BUNGAY,    SUFFOLK. 


MACMILLAN'S 
NEW    AND    NOTABLE 
SIX-SHILLING    NOVELS 

By 

F.   MARION   CRAWFORD 

EDITH    WHARTON 

H.  G.  WELLS 

RHODA    BROUGHTON 

ROSA  N.  CAREY 
WILLIAM    SATCHELL 

W.   E.   NORRIS 

ROLF  BOLDREWOOD 

CHARLES   MAJOR 

EMERSON    HOUGH 

BEULAH    MARIE    DIX 

LONDON  :     MACMILLAN    AND    CO.,  Limited 


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SOPRANO 

A   PORTRAIT 

By 
F.  M.  CRAWFORD 

PRESS    NOTICES 

THE  WORLD.— '  hi.  a  revelation  of  the  life 
of  the  lyric  stage,  Mr.  Marion  Crawford's  novel 
ii  highly  interesting  and  curious.  It  leaves  the 
outsider  no  illusions.  The  author  gives  us  '  the 
opera '  as  the  public  does  not  see  or  picture  it ;  he 
shows  the  apartness  of  it  from  the  social  rule  ;  he 
treats  it  as  a  separate  state,  with  laws  aiid  speech, 
conventions,  ntccitrs,  and  manners,  which  must  and 
do  transform  those  who  cross  their  own  boundaries 
to  enter  it.  The  realism  v/ith  which  all  this  is  put 
is  very  fine. 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.— ''  Ahsorhmg  up  to 
the  close.  ...  A  thoroughly  attractive  story.  .  .  . 
A  story  which  holds  us  by  its  clever  character-por- 
trayal and  pleases  us  by  the  manner  of  its  telling, 
its  frequency  of  epigram,  its  occasional  cynicism, 
its  interesting  situations." 

MORNING  LEADER.— '"in  Soprano  Mr. 
Crawford  is  at  his  best.  .  .  .  One  of  the  most 
amusing  and  interesting  books  of  the  .season." 

ACADEMY.— "  IsXws.ys,  interesting,  and  told 
with  tlie  author's  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
and  his  unvarying  charm." 

GLOBE. — "  We  are  grateful  for  a  novel  in  which 
we  can  discern  the  rare  qualities  of  the  true 
literary  artist." 

E  V  EN  I  KG  S  TA  NDA  R  D  and  S  T.  J  A  MES'S 
GAZETTE. — "  Bonanni  is  partly  a  creature  of 
farce,  but  there  are  tears  behind  her  laughter.  Her 
siory  is  of  success  more  tragic  than  many  failures. 
Mr.  Marion  Crawford  has  seldom  drawn  a  more 
poignantly  real  figure." 

BYSTANDER.— "The:  story  is  extremely 
bright,  and  happens  mostly  in  Paris.  It  is  Mr. 
Crawford  in  his  lighter  vein,  which  spells  pleasure 
to  the  reader." 


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THE   HOUSE 
OF  MIRTH 

By 
EDITH  WHARTON 

PRESS    NOTICES 

SPECTATOR.— "  A  dnhhe-i  and  illuminating 
picture  of  the  quest  for  pleasure  as  carried  on  by 
rich  and  '  smart '  New  Yorkers  of  to-day.  .  .  . 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Wharton  has  shown  too  elaborate  an 
ingenuity'  in  contriving  that  every  indiscretion, 
however  venial,  should  ultimately  recoil  on  her 
heroine  with  accumula-ed  force,  and  the  supreme 
humiliation  of  her  failure  to  'range  herself  by 
marrying  the  odious  Mr.  Rosedale  is  almost  un- 
bearably painful.  Yet  the  story  is  so  closely  knit, 
so  logically  carried  out,  that  one  cannot  but 
acquiebce  in  its  inevitableness,  and  admire  the 
skill  with  which  Mrs.  Wharton  has  contrived  to 
reconcile  her  readers  to  a  conclusion  which  at  first 
seemed  mercilessly  inconclusive." 

GLOBE — "  It  is  always  refreshing  to  meet  with 
a  piece  of  thoroughly  good  workmanship  ;  and  there 
is  no  question  of  Mrs.  Wharton's  literary  ability. 
Her  latest  novel,  77ie  House  of  Mirth,  is  full  of 
vivid  and  convincing  pictures  of  character.  .  .  . 
The  novel  is  one  of  originality,  force,  and  realism  ; 
extremely  well  written,  and  abounding  in  e.xcellent 
dialogue." 

D.4ILY  MAIL.— "  An  admirable  novel  of 
modern  life,  which  cannot  be  too  highly  com- 
mended." 

MORNING  LEADER.— "She  has  perhaps 
the  most  certain  touch  of  any  living  novelist." 

SCOTSMAN.— "  A  powerful  study  of  the 
wealth  and  fashion  of  New  York.  .  .  .  Mr'i.  Whar- 
ton tells  a  story  full  of  human  interest  with  fascin- 
atmg  art  and  strength." 

ACA  DEMY. — "  Mrs.  Wharton  has  done  many 
good  things — she  has  never  done  anything  better 
than  this." 

EVENING  STANDARD  and  ST.  JAMES'S 
GAZETTE. — "  A  remarkably  clever  study.  " 

OUTLOOK. — "  One  of  the  most  striking  novels 
which  the  season  has  jiroduced.  ...  A  remarkably 
penetrating  and  well-sustained  study  of  certain 
phases  of  character  and  life." 


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KIPPS 

The  Story  of  a  Simple  Soul 


By 
H.  G.  WELLS 

PRESS    NOTICES 

SPECTATOR.— "\Ye.  have  found  Kijifis  in 
many  ways  the  most  human  and  sympathetic  of 
Mr.  Wells'  stories." 

DAILY  MAIL.— "The  re.-iders  of  this  en- 
grossing story  will  be  innumerable." 

TIJIIES. — "An  admirable  and  enchanting 
novel." 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.— "-/Sor  sustained 
humour,  shrewd  drollery,  and  quiet  fun,  we  do  not 
know  a  single  book  that  is  at  all  co.iiparable  to 
Mr.  H.  G.  Wells'  latest  novel." 

DAILY  NEIYS.  —  ''The  best  story  Mr.  Wells 
has  yet  given  us." 

^T'/IA'X)^/'/?.— "Alive  to  ths  finger-tips.  .  .  . 
Really  uncommonly  fine." 

ACADEMY. — "The  most  amusing  book,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  tenderest  book,  that  Mr. 
Wells  has  ever  written." 

DAILY  GRAPHIC— "  A  fine  piece  of  work." 

WESTMINSTER  GAZETTE.—"  Brilliantly 
written.  .  .  .  It  isa  rare  pleasure  to  come  upon  a 
book  so  compact  with  knowledge  and  experience,    I 
and  yet  wrought  with  so  much  art  and  skill." 

E  VENIXG  S  TA  NBA  RD  and  ST.  J  A  MES'S 
GAZETTE.—"  In  every  sense   the  best  of  good    ' 
reading." 

OBSERVER- — "The  interest  and  humour 
never  flag." 

WORLD.— '-'nx^      whole      book      is      highly 

entertaining.' 

GLOBE. — "A  novel  to  be  ranked  among  Mr. 
H.  G.  Wells'  best  work  in  his  later  style." 


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A  WAIF'S 
PROGRESS 

By 

RHODA  BROUGHTON 

PRESS    NOTICES 

DAILY  MAIL.  —  "  Miss  Broughton's  sense  of 
;    humour  is  masculine,  for  it  is  infused  with  delight- 
'    ful  cynicism.     No  one  but  a  humorist  of  the  grand 
I    school  could   have  painted  this  portrait  of  Konny- 
I    bell  Ransome.  .  .  .  Miss  Broiighton's  knowledge  of 
1    the  young  girl  is  astonishing,  and  the  triumph  of 
j    her  art  is  that  while  utttrly  disapproving  of  Bonny- 
bell  we  like  her.     It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  the 
other  characters  are  handled  with  equal  knowledge 
and  insight." 

STANDARD.— "'X\\\?,  U  an  exceedingly 
clever  and  powerful  storj'  of  Miss  Broughton's.  It 
is  told  with  consummate  art,  and  yet  ?o  deft  are 
the  touches,  so  excellent  is  the  medium  the 
char.icters  are  worked  in,  that  insensibly  one  drops 
all  the  conventional  standards  of  criticism  and 
reads  it  in  simple  enjoyment  of  a  striking  and 
fascinating  novel." 

DAILY  CHROiV/CLE.—"Mhs  Broughton 
has  made  a  successful  study  of  a  curious  and  unusual 
character.  There  is  feeling  as  v,'ell  as  cleverness 
in  this  novel." 

LADIES'  FIELD.— "The  novel  is  brilliantly 
clever." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "The  book 
gives  an  impression  of  ease  in  the  writing  that 
one  does  not  often  nieet  in  the  days  of  laboured 
sentences." 

OUTLOOK.— "It  cannot  fail  to  be  entirely 
satisfactory  to  the  practised  novel-reader." 

QUEEN. — "  Bonnybell  is,  of  course,  infinitely 
amusing  in  her  audacity  and  naughtiness,  and  her 
sirroundings  and  circumstances  are  treated  with 
the  sime  inimitable  sparkle  and  freshness  as  were 
those  of  Joan  or  Nancy." 

GR.4PHIC.—"  It  is  the  work  of  a  master 
craftsman  or  cr;»ftswoman,  and  its  brilliancy  and 
audacity  combine  to  make  it  most  fascinating 
reading." 


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THE 

HOUSEHOLD 

OF  PETER 

By 
ROSA  N.  CAREY 

PRESS    NOTICES 

WORLD. — "  Her  novels  are  not  remarkable 
for  humour,  but  they  are  bright,  pleasant,  and  not 
complicated,  with  the  charm  of  thorough  good- 
hearledness  and  never-failing  refinement.  It  has 
been  said  of  them  somewhere  that  aU  the  women 
in  them  are  gentlewomen,  whatever  their  station, 
and  this  is  quite  true." 

TIMES. — "Peter  was  a  young  country  doctor 
with  three  sisters,  and  their  quiet  course  and 
ultimate  matrimonial  planting  out  is  given  with 
Miss  Carey's  usual  charm." 

GUARDiA.\r—"\n  Peter's  Household  will 
be  found  all  the  qualities  that  have  long  made  its 
writer  popular  with  a  wide  circle  of  readers." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "  Thzr^  is  a 
very  real  charm  in  the  atmosphere  which  Miss 
Carey  throws  around  her  pictures  of  domestic 
hrippiness  and  in  the  pleasant  types  of  girlhood 
which  she  can  create  with  such  facility." 

ATI/EiV^ UM.—'- Ahozftthtx  this  is  a  sooth- 
ing and  cheerful  story." 

T.P.'s  lVEEKLy.—"A  story  very  well 
adapted  for  the  family  circle." 

EVENING  STANDARD  and  S  T.  J  A  MES'S 
GAZE7'TE.—"To  say  thit  the  book  is  a  good 
one  to  give  a  young  girl  is  not  to  say  that  it  is  at 
all  ir.sipid." 

BOOh'.'ifAN.—"  An  excellent  example  of  Miss 
Carey's  individual  artistry.  ...  A  safe  and  charm- 
ing book." 


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THE  TOLL 

OF 
THE   BUSH 

By 
WILLIAM  SATCHELL 

PRESS    IS§OTICES 

A  THENMUM.—'\  This  is  a  colonial  novel  of 
remarkable  merit  and  distinction.  It  has  a  rounded 
completeness,  a  full  and  broad  humanity,  wh.ch 
are  by  no  means  characteristic  of  contemporary 
fiction." 

DAILY  MAIL.— "There  can  be  but  one 
opinion  about  this  book  :  it  is  one  of  the  most 
po.verful  n  jvels  that  have  been  writen  during  the 
past  ten  years.  Full  of  excellent  di:dugue, 
abounding  in  dramatic  situations,  it  rous'rs  the 
interest  and  enthusiasm  of  the  reader  and  retains 
them  to  the  last  page." 

BOOKMAN.— "Fur  the  second  time  IMr. 
Salchell  has  achieved  an  undoubted  triumph  with 
a  story  of  Maori-land.  .  .  .  From  the  first  page  to 
the  la^t  the  reader  is  transported  to  a  new  world  of 
enchantment.  .  .  .  The  scenery  is  described  with 
extraordinary  power.  .  .  .  With  his  characters  Mr. 
Satchell  is  scarcely  less  .successful." 

BLACK  and  WHITE.— "Is  an  exciting  and 
entertaining  novel." 

OBSER  FER.—"  A  fine  and  stirring  story." 

DAIL  V  TELEGRAPH.— y  The  newcomer  is, 
if  anything,  more  absorbinglj'  interesting  than  the 
author's  earlier  bo  jk." 

BRITISH  WEEA'LV.  — "There  \s  not  an  un- 
interesting page  in  the  book.  .  .  .  There  is  that  in 
the  book  which  will  appeal  to  everyone." 

E  VENING  S  TA  NDA  R  D  andS  T.  J  A  MES'S 
GAZETTE. — "  A  most  excellent  story." 


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LONE 
MARIE 


By 
W.  E.   NORRIS 

PRESS    NOTICES 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— '^Th^  characters 

are  all  interesting,  and  draw  n  with  that  careful 
finish  for  which  the  name  of  Mr.  Norris  is  a 
synonym." 

SPEAKER.— "Th<i  characters  in  Mr.  W.  E. 
Norris  s  clever  novel,  Lone  Marie,  are  done  with  a 
neatness  and  dexterity  ihat  makes  manifest  the 
immense  advantage  to  a  character  of  being  brought 
to  life  by  a  veteran's  hand." 

/^7'//£^V£■i/^/.— "The  whole  story,  which  is 
full  of  readable  incident,  is  written  with  his  usual 
care  and  finish." 

GUARDTA.V. — "We  have  every  reason  to 
thank  Mr.  Norris  for  a  delightful  and  delicate 
piece  of  work." 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.— "X  thoroufihly 
enjoyable  tale.  .  .  .  The  interest  is  skilfully 
maintained  up  to  the  last  page,  while  so  cleverly 
are  the  characters  drawn  that  the  fate  even  of  the 
least  engaging  at  once  becomes  and  remains  the 
object  of  the  leader's  earnest  solicitude." 

DAILY  A'EirS.—"  A  pkasant,  enjoyable 
volume,  a  kindly  compani  n  on  a  journey,  or 
a  welcome  friend  after  a  hard  day's  work." 

E  VENING  S  TA  NDA  R  DandS  T.  J  A  MES'S 
GAZETTE.— "The  best  work  Mr.  Norris  has 
done  for  some  time." 

DAILY  EXPRESS. — "The  characters  are 
unhacknej'ed,  and  the  novel  really  charming." 

BLACK  and  H^HITE.—"  Lone  Marie  is  a 
fine  essay  in  subtle  character-drawing." 

LITERARY'  WORLD.— "Lone  Marie  is  a 
fascinating  creature." 


Crown    8vo 
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THE   LAST 
CHANCE 

A  Tale  of  the  Golden  West 

By 
ROLF  BOLDREWOOD 

PRESS    NOTICES 

SCOTSMAN.—''  He  overflows  with  knowledge 
of  Australian  life  and  character,  and  especially  of 
the  rough,  daring,  adventurous  life  of  a  new  region 
and  a  mining  camp,  of  the  risks  and  glories  of 
prospecting  and  speculation." 

DAILY  MAIL.—''Vx!X.  I.  is  an  admirably 
constructed  story  of  life  on  a  West  .Australian  gold- 
field,  with  all  the  stir  and  slang  of  adventure  which 
Rolf  Boldrewood  knows  to  his  finger-tips.' 

BYSTANDER.— '-X^  an  extremely  pleasant 
tale  .   .  .   lightened  by  a  cheery  optimism." 

K/4.V/7'K /V4/i?.—"  A  pleasure  to  those  who 
can  still  enjoy  a  rattling  story  of  adventure." 

WORLD.— "-1%  very  interesting.  ...  All 
readers  who  know  the  value  of  a  romance  which 
yet  embodies  a  sound  realism  that  teaches  us  to 
understand  and  svmp.tthlst-  with  our  race  snd  kin 
all  over  the  world  will  find  it  especially  attractive. 
.  .  .  .  The  picturesqueiioss  of  tlie  scenes  in 
Australia  is  finely  balanced  by  the  author's  happy 
appreciations  of  the  natural  be.iuties  and  the 
traditional  grandeur  of  Eii,L,l.'ind  " 

TIMES. — "A  very  cheerful  and  simple-minded 
tale." 

SCOTSMAN. — "The  writing  is  always  brisk 
and  vigorous." 

DUNDEE  A DYERTISER.—"  It  is  a 
leisurely  chronicle  of  the  doings  of  a  set  of  very 
charming  people  whom  one  would  very  gladly 
count  among  one's  acquaintances." 

SOU  III  AFRICA.—"  No  one  who  has 
deli;j;hted  himself  or  herself  with  a  perusal  of  his 
previous  achievemen'.s  should  neglect  the  present 
one." 


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YOLANDA 

MAID  OF  BURGUNDY 


By 
CHARLES    MAJOR 


Resembles  "  When  Knighthood  was  in 
Flower"  (of  which  500,000  were  sold) 
more  than  any  other  of  Mr.  Major's  books 


Mr.  Charles  Major's  new  novel,  Yolaitda,  is 
ihe  love-story  of  Maximilian,  Count  of  Hapsberg, 
son  of  Duke  Frederick  of  Styria,  and  Princess 
Mary,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Charles  the  Bold  of 
Burgundy.  '1  he  story  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  Sir 
Karl  de  Pitti,  a  knight  of  the  Order  of  St.  John, 
and  tutor  to  the  young  count.  He  loves  the  lad  as 
though  he  were  his  own  son,  and  conceives  the 
idea  that  his  pupil  should  eventually  marry  the 
Princess  Mary.  He  persuades  Max  to  leave  his 
home  and,  as  a  mere  soldier  of  fortune,  travel  to 
Burgundy  and  there  see  if  he  cannot  win  the 
Princess.  So  the  t*o,  as  "true  knights  errant," 
journey  forth  together.  But  it  seems  as  if  the 
object  of  thtir  pains  was  to  be  overthrown  at  once, 
for,  en  arriving  at  Basel,  they  encounter  a  party 
consisting  of  a  merchant  and  his  wife,  their 
daughter,  and  their  niece  Yolanda,  the  last  a  most 
vivacious,  fascinating  little  damsel  to  whom,  at 
first  sight,  Ma.x  loses  his  heart.  It  is  soon  apparent 
that  Yolanda  is  not  the  simple  burgher  maiden  she 
seems,  and  Karl  is  the  first  to  suspect  that  she  is 
nj  other  than  Princes^  Mary  henself  The  diffi- 
cultie-;  in  the  way  of  the  lovers  are  finally  cleared 
away  and  this  charming  siory  of  romantic  love  and 
adventure  is  brought  to  a  happy  conclusion. 


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HEART'S 
DESIRE 

By 

EMERSON    HOUGH 


A  romantic  story  of  the  Western  States 

of  America,  giving  delightful   pictures  of 

country  life  and  scenes 


Mr.  Emerson  Hough's  new  book  takes  its  name 
from  the  little  mountain  town  in  New  Mexico  that 
he  makes  the  scene  of  his  story.  This  was  the 
home  of  "certain  malcontents  who  sought  oblivion, 
dre.-iming  that  life  can  be  left  aside  when  one  grows 
weary  of  it."  For  a  time  there  was  no  Eve  in  this 
liden,  the  population,  numbering  three  hundred, 
being  "  adult,  m-ile,  and  stern  of  habit."  Presently, 
however,  there  arrives  a  family  from  Kansas,  a 
mother,  father,  and  two  daughters,  and  close  on 
these  coii:es  Constance  Ellsworth,  the  girl  to  whom 
D.'.n  Anderion,  the  most  conspicuous  character  of 
the  "  malcontents,"  had  aspired  five  years  before  in 
New  York.  Now  after  these  years  Dan  and 
Constance  meet  again,  she  having  accompanied 
her  father  to  Heart's  Desire,  whither  he  has  been 
attracted  by  the  glowing  accounts  that  have 
reached  him  of  the  great  mineral  wealth  that 
abounds  not  only  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood, 
but  on  the  .'ite  of  the  straggling  town  itself.  But 
Dan  is  the  man  in  possession,  and  Mr.  Ellsworth 
finds  he  can  do  nothing  without  his  help.  How 
nobly  the  young  man  behaves  under  strong 
temptation,  how  he  has,  as  he  thinks,  relinquished 
all  chance  of  ever  making  Constance  his  wife,  and 
how,  in  the  end,  all  comes  right,  form  a  charming 
story  of  great  freshness  and  originality. 


Crown    8vo 
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THE    FAIR 

MAID  OF 

GRAYSTONES 

By 
BEULAH   MARIE  DIX 

The    scenes   of   this   story   take  place   in 

Suffolk   in  1648,    after  the    surrender    of 

Colchester  to  the  Parliamentary  forces. 

MA NCHES TER  GUAR DIA iV.— "  1 1  gives 
a  reader  rare  pleasure  to  come  across  anything  so 
much  alive  as  The  Fair  Maid  o/Graystones.  .  . 
The  adventures  of  its  hero  are  brisk  and  briskly 
told  and,  beyond  all,  its  hero  himself  is  very 
much  of  a  living  man.  .  .  .  One  may  safely  re- 
commend the  story  to  anyone  who  affects  a  good, 
rattling  tale  of  adventure,  intrigue,  and  triumphant 
courage." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "Thh  excMeut 
story  .  .  .  provokes  an  interest  that  is  healthy  and 
sustained.  Miss  Dix  has  grasped  the  spirit  oi  the 
times,  and  all  her  characters  are  ably  drawn." 

SCOTSMAN.—"  It  is  told  with  sweet  attrac- 
tiveness, and  the  characters  are  consistently  well 
drawn." 

By  the   Same   Author 
Crown  8vo  6s    each 

HUGH    GWYETH 

A  Roundhead  Cavalier 

SOLDIER   RIGDALE 

Illustrated 

THE  MAKING    OF   CHRIS- 
TOPHER FERRINGHAM 

A  LITTLE   CAPTIVE   LAD 

BLOUNT  of  BRECKENHOW 


Illustrated 
Gilt  tops 


Crown  8vo 
6s.  each 


THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

AN    AMERICAN 

CITIZEN 

By 
ROBERT  HERRICK 

Author  of 
"  The  Web  of  Life,"  &c. 


AN   ISLAND  IN 
THE    AIR 

A  Story  of  Singular 

Adventures  in  the  Mesa 

Country 

By 
ERNEST  INGERSOLL 


HEIMWEH 

The  Siren      The  Loaded  Gun 

Liebereich 

'  lupiter  Tonans  '  '  Sis  ' 

Thor's  Emerald  Guile 

By 
JOHN  LUTHER  LONG 


UNIFORM   EDITION    OF   THE 

WORKS    OF    RUDYARD    KIPLING 

Extra  Croivn  'ivo.     Scarlet  Cloth.     Gilt  Tots.     6s.  each 


32nd  Thousand 
Traffics  and  Discoveries 

45th  Tliousand 

Just  So  Stories  for  Little 
Children 

With  lUustrations  by  the  Author 
Also  4to  Edition     6s 
65  th  Thousand     ' 

Kim 

Ilhistrated  by  J.  L.  KiPLiNG 
38th  Thousand 

Stalky  &  Co. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE— "\(  Stalky  &^ 
Co.  does  not  become  as  classic  as  the  greatest 
fav.)urites among  Mr.  Kipling'sprevious  volumes  of 
stories,  write  us  down  false  prophets.  Ke  has 
never  written  with  more  rapturously  swinging  zest, 
or  bubbled  over  with  more  rollicking  fun." 

62nd  Thousand 

The  Day's  Work 

MORNING  POST.— "The  book  is  so  varied, 
so  full  of  colour  and  life  from  end  to  end,  that  few 
who  read  the  first  two  or  three  stones  will  lay  it 
down  till  they  have  read  the  last." 

53rd  Thousand 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills 

SATURDAY  REVIEIV.—"  Ur.  Kipling 
knov\s  and  appreciates  the  English  in  India,  and 
is  a  born  story  teller  and  a  man  of  humour  into  the 


bargain, 
reading." 

.  .   It   would    be    hard     t 
44th  Thousand 

Life's  Handica 

0  find    better 
P 

Being  Stories  of  Mine  Own  People 
BLACK  AND   WHITE.— " Life's  Handicap 
contains  much  of  the  best  work  hitherto  accom- 
plished by  the  author,  and,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  a 
complete  advance  upon  its  predecessors." 

41st  Thousand 

Many  Inventions 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— ''■V\izcomx>\<t\.est 
book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet  given  us  in  work- 
manship, the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in 
breadth  of  view.  ...  It  can  only  be  regarded  as 
a  fresh  landmark  in  the  progression  of  his 
genius." 

2 1  St  Thousand 

Wee  Willie  Winkie 

and  other  Stories 


25th  Thousand 

Soldiers  Three 

and  (.ther  Stories 
GLOBE. — "Contain'ng  some  of  the  best  of  his 
highly  vivid  work." 

67th  Thousand 

The  Jungle  Book 

Wiih    Illustrations   by   J-    L.    KirLiNG 
and  W.  H.  Drake 

PUNCH.—"  '.Esop's  Fables  and  dear  old  Brer 
Fox  and  Co.'  observes  the  Baron  sagely,  '  may 
have  suggested  to  the  fanciful  genius  of  Rudyard 
Kipling  the  delightful  idea,  carried  out  in  the 
most  fascinating  style,  of   Tliejtingle  Book.'  " 

46th  Thousand 

The  Second  Jungle  Book 

With    Illustrations    by    J.    Lockwood 
Kipling 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.— yihe  .appearance 
of  The  Second  Jungle  Book  is  a  literary  event 
of  which  no  one  will  mistake  the  importance.  Un- 
like most  sequels,  the  various  stories  comprised  in 
the  new  volume  are  at  least  equal  to  their  prede- 
cessors." 

30lh*Thousand 

"  Captains  Courageous  " 

A  Story  of  the  Grand  Banks.  Illustrated 
by  I.  W.  Taber 
A  THEN^UM.-'-  Never  in  English  prose  has 
the  sea  in  all  its  myriad  aspects,  with  all  its  sounds 
and  sights  and  odours,  been  reproduced  with  such 
subtle  skill  as  in  these  pages." 

17th  Thousand 

From  Sea  to  Sea 

Letters  of  Travel.  In  Two  Vols. 
DAILY  TELEGRAPH.  — "  From  Sea  to 
Sea.  is  deli>;htful  reading  throughout.  '  Good 
things'  sparkle  in  its  every  page,  and  inimitable 
descriptive  matter  abounds.  ...  A  charming 
book." 

50th  Thousand 

The  Light  that  Failed 

Re-written  and  considerably  enlarged 

^C^Z)^yi/F.— "Whatever  else  be  true  of  Mr. 

Kipling,  it  is  the  first  truth  about  him  that  he  has 

power,    real  intrinsic    power.   .  .  .   Mr.    Kipling's 

work  has  innumerable  good  qualities." 

The  Naulahka 

A  Story  of  West  and  East 
BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 

AND 

WOLCOTT  BALESTIER 


C. 5.12. '05.     R.  CLAY  AND  SONS,  LTD.,  BREAD  ST.  HILL,  E.C.,  AND  BUNGAY,  SUFFOLK. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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